When Spike Met Buffy
by Kella2
Summary: Ch. 13-15 now up! AU! SPUFFY! Review! 'Nuff said. lol
1. Chapter 1

"When Spike Met Buffy" 

Summary:  This story was the brain-child of me and a challenge I saw on the Spuffyarchives.com website. This is my second BtVS fic (I only write Spuffy fic, thank you very much) and my very first fantasy fic ever. The details of the challenge were as follows:

** Write a story for Spike and Buffy based on the movie "When Harry Met Sally". 

** Extra points for: NC-17 rating (gotta love smut), most original/surprising ending, going as far away from the original movie as possible, but still staying with the basic plot line, original not-in-the-movie scenes, Angel and/or Riley bashing (soooo not enough of that seen in fanfic today).

Disclaimer:  Joss and ME are gods. Do you hear that? I own NADA! Squat. Zilch. But gods, I wish I owned JM… Someone send him to me for Christmas/Yule? Naked, preferably…evil grin

Chapter 1 

            A man and his wife, both elderly, sat on a couch smiling at each other. The man had brown hair and wore glasses. He looked to be in his late 50's. The woman had blonde, wavy hair, with a touch of gray, around the same age. They held hands and offered a smile to the interviewer. When the man spoke, his voice gave away his British accent.

            "I was sitting in a coffee shop in Sunnydale, California, with my friend Wesley Wyndham-Price. It was the Espresso Pump, yes… Now I remember. How could I forget?" He smiled briefly at his wife before continuing. "Yes, you see it was before the Starbucks craze hit our small town. Anyway, this beautiful lady walked in…" His voice trailed off.

            "Oh, Rupert," his wife blushed, playfully batting his forearm.

            "I turned to Wesley," he recovered, continuing his story, "and said, 'Wesley, you see that woman? I'm going to marry her.' Two years later, we were married. Fifteen years later, we're still married."

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            Standing outside the steps leading up to a California high school, a young man embraced his girlfriend in a passionate kiss. His bleached hair was slicked back, drastically offsetting her wavy black hair. He wore a black graduation gown, as did she. Pulling back from the kiss, he stared deeply into her eyes.

            "I love you," he murmured to her.

            "I love you," she sighed back to him.

            They resumed their passionate embrace, neither one noticing the car that idled in the street next to the curb. Inside the car was a blonde girl, also recently graduated, at the wheel. She sat there, not wanting to be rude, but also not wanting to see the mushy display any longer than necessary. Finally, she honked the horn.

            Drusilla pulled back from the kiss and peered into the car as the window rolled down. "Oh, hello, Buffy!" She led her boyfriend over to the passenger side of the car. "Buffy, this is Spike… er, William Benton. Spike, this is Elizabeth Summers. But, call her Buffy, or she'll get all in a snit," she added cheekily.

            Reaching through the open window of the car, Spike took Buffy's hand and shook it. "Nice to meet you," he said politely in his clipped, Cockney accent.

            Smiling back at Spike, politely, Buffy gestured to the wheel. "You want to drive the first shift?"

            "No, you're already settled, there. It's all right," he said. 

            "Boy, you're taking your life in your hands, you know that?" Buffy quipped lightly.

            After a lingering look into Drusilla's eyes, Spike opened the back passenger door of the car and started loading his bags into it, making room for them by carefully moving aside the television set, books, bags, and other belongings the blonde driver already had stored in the back. 

            As he closed the door and opened the passenger door to get in, Drusilla blew him a kiss. "Call me," she said in her lilting British voice.

            He looked back at her longingly. "I'll call as soon as I get there, luv."

            "Call me from the road."

            "I'll call you before that."

            They kissed and he closed the car door as they said their final "I love you"s.

            Buffy pulled away from the curb and headed towards the nearest interstate onramp. They rode in silence for a while, allowing Buffy half an hour of thought. Finally, as Spike reached into his backpack and pulled out some grapes, she half-turned to him. "I've got this all figured out. It's a ten-hour trip, which means we could do five shifts of two hours each. Or, we could, like, do it by mileage. There's a map above your visor there, I've highlighted the places where we'd stop to change shifts. You can do two hours?"

            He nodded, holding out the bunch he was snacking from. "Grape?"

            She shook her head lightly, her hair bouncing around her shoulders. "No thanks. I don't like snacking between meals."

            He nodded again, then turned and spit a grape seed out the window… which didn't happen to be open. Hoping she didn't notice, he sheepishly muttered, "I'll just roll down the window then, shall I?"

            They drove in silence for a long time afterward. He fidgeted a bit before saying, "I hope this isn't going t' be one of those eighteen hour trips with a lot of long awkward quiet times, y'know?"

            "Me too."

            Another lengthy silence.

            "So," he said briskly, rubbing his palms together. "Right then. So, tell me all about yourself."

            "Me?"  

            "Yeah, sure, why not. I mean, we've got ten hours before we get to Las Vegas. Lay it on me."

            She glanced at him skeptically. "The story of my life isn't even going to get us past Los Angeles. I mean, nothing's happened to me. That's why I'm going to Las Vegas."

            He looked at her. "So something can happen to you?"

            "Yes."

            "Like what, pet?"

            She shrugged. "I want to sing, you know? Maybe dance a bit. I'm going to Las Vegas and get myself a stage act set up."

            He smirked. "So you can sing about things that happen to other people."

            She paused. "That's one way to look at it."

            He folded his hands behind his head and propped his booted feet up on the dashboard. "Suppose nothin' happens to you while you're there? I mean, suppose you live your whole life there in good ol' Vegas and never do anythin' excitin', never meet anyone, and finally die of old age? Only, it's one of those Las Vegas deaths where nobody notices until two weeks later when the smell finally drifts down to the Strip."

            Buffy wrinkled her delicate nose as she stared at him. _Who the hell did Dru stick me with?_ "You, Spike, are a certified freak. You know that?" She shook her head and turned back to the road.

            He laughed. "I've been called worse, pet."  
            She nodded as she turned onto a different freeway. "Dru told me you had a dark side."

            "That's what drew her to me."

            "Your dark side?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

            "Yeah, why? Don't you have a dark side?" He smacked himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand as if the notion was so ridiculous. "No, of course you don't. You're probably one of those chits that dots her i's with little hearts."

            She felt her ire rise as she defensively retorted, "I have just as much of a dark side as the next person!"

            "Oh really?" he responded, pleased with himself. "When I rent a movie I fast forward to the end and watch the last scene first. That way if I die before I get to watch the rest of it, I know how it all turns out. _That_, luv, is a dark side."

            Buffy snorted. "That doesn't make you a deep person or anything. I mean, I'm basically a happy person."

            "So am I," Spike interjected cheerfully.

            "…And I don't see that there's anything wrong with that."

            "Of course you don't. You're too busy being happy." He half-turned in the seat to face her, staring at her intently. "Do you ever think about death, pet?"

            "Yes," she lied smoothly.

            "Sure you do," he laughed. "A fleeting thought that drifts through the back of your mind. I spend hours, days…"

            "And you think that makes you a better person?" Buffy bit back at him.

            Spike held his hands palm-up in supplication. "Look, when the shit comes down, I'm going to be prepared, and you're not. That's all I'm bloody saying."

            "And in the meantime, you're going to ruin your whole life waiting for it to happen," she sniped. She waited a beat, then, "What are _you_ going to do in Las Vegas?"

            "Dunno. Hadn't given it much thought. I just graduated high school, don't know what I want to do yet."

            She smiled sweetly, never taking her eyes off the road. "You should be a hit man for the mafia. The kind that carries messages from 'the boss'. I think you'd be perfect at explaining to your victims that they're going to die."

            She was too busy looking innocently at the road that she missed the priceless expression that was Spike dumbfounded.

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TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

            As the sun slowly crossed the sky, bringing on the afternoon, Buffy elbowed her passenger lightly in the ribs. Pulling over to the shoulder of the freeway, she unfastened her seatbelt, grinned at him impishly, and announced, "Time!"

            Rubbing his face, Spike undid his seatbelt and got out of the car. He came around to the driver's side and swapped places with Buffy. As soon as the passenger door shut and her seatbelt was fastened, the car took off at breakneck speed, leaving behind tracks of rubber and clouds of dust in its wake. Buffy turned a wide-eyed gaze at the new driver, who had a self-satisfied grin on his face. 

            "My god. And they accused _me_ of flunking drivers' ed!"

            He said nothing. Simply winked at her and flipped the car radio on to the 80's rock station. For the next half hour he sang along to rock tunes that she never knew existed before. He spared her a brief glance. "Do you like the Ramones?"

            He got a blank stare in return. "The who now?"

            Rolling his eyes, he lounged back in the driver's seat and bobbed his head to the music. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, for the sake of mutual peace and prevention of bloodshed."

            A corner of her mouth quirked upward, but she said nothing.

            The afternoon tolled on in silence, brief conversations cropping up here and there, but not really amounting to any deep thoughts between the two. As it grew towards late afternoon, they branched onto a smaller highway, towards a motel and diner complex.

            "He doesn't want her to stay," Spike was patiently explaining to Buffy. "That's why he put the bint on the plane."

            "I don't think she wanted to stay," Buffy insisted.

            "Of _course_ she wanted to stay," Spike protested, giving her an 'are you serious?' look. "Wouldn't you rather be with Humphry Bogart than that other ponce?"

            Buffy ignored the look, staring out the passenger window while twirling a lock of hair around her finger idly. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life in Casablanca married to a man that runs a bar. That probably sounds very snobbish and Cordelia Chase to you, but I don't."

            "You'd rather have a passionless life…"

            "As first lady of Chzechoslovakia," Buffy reminded him, interrupting.

            "…Than married to a man that you've had the greatest sex of your life with, just because he runs a bar and that's all he does." Spike shook his head in disbelief as he pulled the car in front of the diner, which looked like it was pulled straight out of the 1950's. 

            Buffy peered at the diner briefly before she began to undo her seatbelt. "Yes," she retorted, keeping the debate alive. "And so would _any_ woman in her right mind. Women are very practical, and so is Ingrid Bergman, which is why she got on the damn plane at the end of the movie!"

            Spike rolled his eyes as he unfastened his seatbelt and got out of the car. He pulled off the graduation robe he'd been wearing and threw it in the back of the car, reaching in and retrieving his leather duster. Shrugging into the long leather coat, he smiled patronizingly at her. "Oh, I understand." He turned and walked towards the diner.

            Her brow creased and she followed him, shutting her car door behind her. "What?"

            Innocently shaking his head, he opened the door and smiled. "Nothing."

            Placing one hand on her hip, she yanked the door out of his grasp and stared at him. "What?"

            He said nothing in reply, just laughed and shook his head, entering the diner while she held the door. Frustrated, she followed him, determined to hear what he "understood."

            The atmosphere of the place was thick with Elvis and Marilyn Monroe pictures, peppered with album covers from Fabian and Doris Day. A few Beatles portraits hung on the wall behind the hostess in front of them. Smiling, the girl flipped her brown ponytail and grabbed two menus, waiting for them to approach. 

            As they walked up to the podium where the girl stood, Spike half-turned to her. "Obviously, pet, you haven't had great sex yet." Turning to the hostess, he flashed his most charming grin. "Table for two, please, luv."

            Giggling and blushing, the hostess ducked her head and smiled, turning to the area where the booths were. "Right this way."

            Buffy stood there for a moment, fish-mouthed, then followed Spike angrily. "Yes I have!"

            "No, you haven't," he smiled back, sitting down at the table that the hostess gestured to. 

            Buffy stared at him. "It just so happens, Mister Bottle-Blonde, that I have had _plenty_ of great sex!"

            Patrons stopped eating momentarily to stare at her in disbelief while the hostess giggled behind a menu that she was holding. With her outburst, Buffy had single-handedly stopped all conversation in the place. Flushing bright red, and doing her best to ignore Spike's snickering, she took her seat opposite him, taking a menu from the hostess.

            Spike did the same, and faced her, not about to let the subject drop. "Yeah? With whom?"  
            "What?"

            "…Have you had this great sex?"

            She blushed three shades darker. "I'm so not going to tell you that!"

            "Fine, don't tell me." He shrugged nonchalantly and engrossed himself in his menu. Minutes passed as they pretended to read the items and silence took over the table.

            Finally, she sighed. "Liam Connor."

            "Liam?" Spike laughed. "Liam 'Angel' Connor?" He chuckled. "No, pet, I'm sorry, but you did not have great sex with Angel."

            "I did too." She crossed her arms across her chest in defiance, glaring at him.

            "No," he snickered. "An 'Angel' can bring you flowers. An 'Angel' can possibly even write you a soddin' love poem. But between the sheets is not Angel's strong suit." Mimicking a high-pitched, female tone, he continued, "I love you, Angel. Do it to me, Angel. Oh, I just can't get enough of you, Angel!" He shook his head at the flustered blonde across from him. "It just doesn't work."

            A waitress approached their table. "What can I get for you?"

            He handed her his menu and flashed his charming grin again. "I'll have the Number Three."

            "What kind of bread do you want that on?" the waitress smiled back.

            With his eyes wide, he shrugged. "Surprise me."

            Buffy looked up at the waitress and handed back her menu. "You know, I think I'll have the apple pie, a la mode."

            Writing down her order, the waitress repeated, "Apple, a la mode."

            "But I'd like the pie heated," Buffy continued, "and I don't want the ice cream on top, I want it on the side. And I'd like strawberry instead of vanilla, if you have it. If not, then no ice cream, just whipped cream. But only if it's real. If it's out of a can, then nothing."

            The waitress raised an eyebrow at her. "Not even the pie?"

            Buffy smiled. "No, just the pie. Just not heated."

            Shaking her head, the waitress walked back to the kitchen, leaving Spike staring at Buffy in utter disbelief.

            Catching him staring at her, Buffy spread her hands in surrender. "Okay, I give up. _Now_ what?"

            Spike shook his head and sighed. "Nothing. So, why'd you break up with Angel?" He lounged back in the booth and folded his hands in his lap.

            "How do you know we broke up?" Buffy played absently with a lock of her hair.

            "Because," he smiled. "If you hadn't broken up with him, you wouldn't be here with me. You'd still be with Angel the Wonder Schlong."

            "First of all," Buffy replied, leaning forward, "I'm not _with_ you." She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. "Second of all, it's none of your damn business why we broke up."

            Spike held his hands up in front of him, palms outward. "You're right, luv. You're absolutely right. I don't want to know."

            The was a moment of silence, then Buffy said softly, "If you _must_ know, it's because he was very jealous and I had these Days of the Week underwear."

            Spike stared at her with wide eyes before making a buzzer sound behind his hand. "Bzzz! Judges are ruling on this: Days of the Week underpants?!?"

            Rolling her eyes, Buffy sighed. "Yes, they make these pairs of underwear with the days of the week on them, and I thought they were kinda funny and cute and all. Then one day, he says to me, 'Where's Sunday? You never wear Sunday.' And he got all suspicious. Where had I left Sunday? And I told him, but he never believed me…"

            Laughing, Spike raised an eyebrow. "What?"

            She shrugged her shoulders and stared him straight in the eyes. "They don't make Sunday."

            "Why not?"

            "Because of God or something."

            "And that's what broke you two lovebirds up?"

            "Yes."

            Waiting a beat, he toyed with the napkin container. "How many men have you slept with, pet?"

            "I'm not going to tell you that!" she gasped.

            "Okay then, don't tell me," he shrugged.

            After a pause, she whispered, "Two."

            He snickered. "You've been with two people, and based on that, you know whether or not you've had great sex?"

            She flipped her hair back over one shoulder. "Well, how many have _you_ slept with?"

            He shrugged. "I don't know."

            "You don't know?"

            "That's right, I don't know." He smiled wickedly, winking at her.  
            "Well, is it between one and three, four and ten, or ten and one hundred?" she insisted.

            He shrugged again. "Ten and a hundred."

            Her eyes widened. "Is it closer to ten or closer to one hundred?"

            As the waitress approached, he paused, then muttered, "Ten." The waitress set their food down and they ate in silence, stealing glances at one another occasionally.

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wicked cackle TBC! Bwah ha ha… Read and review, si vous plait!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

            When the check for their meal arrived, Buffy snatched it up and began figuring out how much her portion was. After several attempts to do the math in her head, she whipped a pen out of her purse and began totaling the figures on a napkin. Glancing up, she noticed Spike gazing at her intently, with the oddest look in his eyes. And it was only at this second that she noticed they were the most intriguing shade of blue she had ever seen. They constantly changed shades in the light. However, the fact that he was openly staring at her made her nervous. 

            She quickly checked her face in a compact mirror that she pulled out of her purse. "What? Do I have something…?"

            He shook his head and gave her a small smile before saying seriously. "You're a very attractive person."

            Flustered, she put the compact away and returned her eyes to the napkin she had scribbled on. "Oh. Thank you."

            He continued his scrutiny. "Drusilla never mentioned you being so attractive…"

            "Well," she responded lightly, "maybe Dru doesn't find me particularly attractive."         

            "It's not a matter of opinion. You are Empirically attractive." He waved a hand dismissively. "You know, by Empirical standards and what-not…"

            "Spike," Buffy totaled the amount, left her money on the table and stood up, fixing him with a serious look. "Drusilla is my friend." She crossed the restaurant towards the exit.

            Spike hurried to put his money on the table and catch up with her. "Yeah, so?"

            "So, you're going out with her."

            They stepped outside and he reached into his jacket pocket for a cigarette. As he lit it, he furrowed his brow at her. "So?"

            "So?!" She threw her hands up in the air and looked heavenward. "Spike, you're hitting on me!"

            He shook his head and blew smoke out through thinned lips. "No, I wasn't." At her disbelieving look, he copped a stance and peered at her. "What? Can't a bloke say that a woman's attractive without it becoming a bleedin' come-on?"

            She stared at him, then shook her head and headed for the car, him following close behind.

            "All right," he continued. "Let's say, for the sake of argument, that it was a come-on. What d'you want me to do? Take it back? All right then. I fucking take it back."

            She rolled her eyes as she unlocked the driver's side door. "You can't take it back."

            "Why the hell not?"

            Shaking her head as if she were talking to a child, she looked at him pointedly before sliding into her seat. "Because it's already out there."

            Dumbfounded, he stared at the air where her head had previously been before opening his door and getting into the car as well. Rolling down his window before he closed the door, he dangled his hand with the lit cigarette out the window and looked at her. "Oh, for gods' sakes, what are we gonna do? Call the cops, because it's already out there?"

            She held a hand up between them. "Just… let it be."

            "Right. Good Beatles song. That's my motto: Let it be. Just let it be, let it be…" He took a puff of cigarette smoke, idly blowing it out the window, before noticing that she hadn't started the engine yet. "So, what… You want to stay here in the motel?"

            She didn't answer for a moment, then looked at him squarely. Her jaw was set in determination. "Spike."

            "Yes, luv?"

            "We're just going to be friends," she stated simply. "That's it."

            He nodded abruptly, staring back out his open window at the smoke that curled skyward. "Right. Great. Best thing, and all that sort. Friends." A pause, then he looked back at her. "You know, of course, that we could never just be friends, luv?"

            "What do you mean?" Buffy's brow knit in confusion as she pulled the car out of the parking lot and began to drive off. 

            "What I'm saying… and this is _not_ a come-on in any way… is that men and women can't just 'be friends'. The sex part always gets in the way."

            "That's not true," she asserted as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, staring at the road to avoid his eyes. "I have a number of male friends, and there is no sex involved whatsoever. Nothing of the sexual nature."

            "No, you don't," he told her simply.

            "Yes I do."

            "No, you don't," he insisted.

            "Yes, I _do_," she retorted, staring at him as if he had three heads.

            He chuckled. "You only _think_ you do, pet."

            She rolled her eyes and sighed. "You're telling me that I'm having sex with all these guys without my knowledge?"

            "No," he smirked. "I'm saying they all _want_ to have sex with you."

            "No they don't."

            "Yes they do."

            "Don't either."

            "Do too," he laughed, taking another drag before flicking the cigarette out the window as she continued driving towards the highway onramp.

            "How do _you_ know?" she retorted in irritation.

            "Because unless he's a soddin' poof, no man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her," Spike sighed, as if it were obvious.

            "So, you're saying a guy can be friends with a girl he finds _un_attractive?" Buffy laughed.

            "No," Spike said, after thinking about it for a moment. "You pretty much want to have sex with them too."

            "What if _they_ don't want to have sex with _you_?"

            "Doesn't matter," he replied, propping his feet up on the dashboard. "The sex thing is already out there, so the friendship is ultimately doomed. That's the end of the story."

            "Huh," Buffy said, acting as if she was taking him seriously. "I guess we'll never be friends then."

            "Guess not."

            "It's too bad," she shot him a wink and a smile. "You were the only person I knew in Las Vegas."

            They crossed the city limits line into Las Vegas, driving down the Strip on their way to the hotel he was to be staying at. The lights and the signs flashed a million different neon colors, and they were each dazzled by the display. Buffy had no idea where she was going to be staying, but she was bound and determined not to let it be the same hotel as his. If only for Drusilla's sake. The boy was annoying, but gods she could so jump into bed with him at a second's notice…

            _Bad Buffy!_ She scolded herself mentally. _No jumping-Spike thoughts!_

            She finally pulled up to the curb in front of a rather nice-looking Holiday Inn. _Great,_ she thought. _Now I have to boycott the Holiday Inns of the world…_ Spike hopped out and began unloading the backseat of his belongings. She went around to help him. When they had everything of his piled onto one of those bellhop baggage carts, he faced her fully.

            He stuck a hand out for her to shake. "Well, it was nice knowing you, luv."

            She shook his hand firmly and smiled. "Yeah, it was…interesting."

            "Thanks for the ride," he continued, not wanting the moment to end too soon. Damn, but the chit was actually growing on him…

            "You're welcome," he heard her saying.

            The nodded at each other in an awkward moment of silence, still holding onto each other's hand. 

            Finally, she pulled her hand back and waved at him, going around to the driver's side of the car. "Well, have a nice life."

            He nodded slowly, staring after her. "You too," he murmured softly.

            As he pushed the cart through the doors of the hotel, she quickly drove off so she wouldn't be tempted to stay any longer. _Drusilla,_ she cursed her friend in her mind, _I hope you appreciate the sacrifices I make for you… The boy is definitely screw-worthy…_ She drove for hours, trying to find a place to stay that was reasonably priced and _not_ the Holiday Inn.

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            TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 

            _Five years later…_

            Leather duster whipping behind him, Spike stalked down the corridor of the Las Vegas airport. He didn't want to be late for his plane, but there was something to be said for not being in too much of a hurry. He had spent years perfecting his "Bad Boy" image, and he was hoping to get a few silly chits to notice him, swoon, or something, before he had to board his flight. As he headed towards the gate where his plane was sitting, he walked past a couple kissing passionately. He stopped, turning abruptly to stare at them. There was something about one of them that seemed really familiar… The girl of course, but he kept trying to figure out who her boyfriend was. He looked a while longer, before he recognized him.

            _Ah, yes. Riley Finn. That pompous Army asshole. Damn girl could do so much better than the likes of him… Wonder what kind of reaction I'd get from her if I went up there and talked to him? _he thought to himself.

            Stepping up to the couple, he tapped Riley on the shoulder. "Finn? That you?" He stuck his hands out. "Spike Benton, you remember?"

            Riley smiled, shaking Spike's hand. "Benton, you old dog, you! How've you been?"

            "Everything's comin' up roses, mate. And you?"

            "Fine," Riley smiled, squeezing his girlfriend around the waist. "Just fine."

            Spike nodded. "Thought it was you. So, still with that Army setup?"

            "Yeah, got a small elite group setup somewhere back home, now." Riley laughed. "The Initiative, they call it. In Sunnydale, of all places. I'm on leave for a few weeks though," he finished, smiling down at his female companion.

            Spike grinned. "No place like home, they say. Me, I'm with a small company, agents for talent on the Strip." He waggled his eyebrows. "It's a fun job, mate."

            Riley chuckled. "I'll bet." He squeezed his girl around the waist again, motioning her forward towards Spike. "Benton, I'd like you to meet my girl, Buffy Summers. Buffy, this is William Benton, we grew up together before I went back to live with my mom in Iowa. We all called him Spike, though. Never really knew where he got the name…"

            Spike looked at Buffy with a raised eyebrow and a smile. "The ladies gave it to me, of course."

            Riley laughed outright at that, only to be elbowed in the ribs by a not-amused Buffy. "Oh, right. Sorry, honey."

            Spike stood there for a moment, looking at her, trying to see if she remembered him. Finally he nodded. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Betty…"

            "Buffy," she said icily.

            "Right," he said, covering up for his intentional mistake. "Buffy. Nice chattin' with you Riley, but I have to be catching my flight." He raised two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. "See you 'round, Captain." He turned and headed off to his gate.

            _Stupid bint didn't even remember me,_ he thought in irritation. _Guess I'm not all that memorable after all…_

            As he walked off, Buffy breathed a sigh of relief, turning to Riley. "Whew. Thank god he didn't recognize me."

            "Why?" Riley asked, confused.

            "I drove from Sunnydale to Vegas with him on graduation night and it was the _longest_ night of my life!" She rolled her eyes for emphasis.

            "What happened?"

            "He made a pass at me and I said no… He was going out with a friend of mine, oh what was her name?" She batted his arm playfully, wagging a finger at him. "Don't get involved with me, Riley. I can't even remember the name of the friend that I turned her boyfriend down out of respect for…"

            He laughed. "So what happened?"

            "When?"

            "He made a pass at you and you said no…"

            "Uhh," she replied, thinking hard. "Oh! I said 'Can we just be friends?' This part I remember, because he told me men and women couldn't be friends…"

            Riley leaned in and kissed her again, attempting to deepen it when she pulled back.

            "Do you think it's true?" she asked.

            "Do I think what is true?"

            "Do you have any women friends? Just friends?" she persisted.

            He smiled. "No, but I'll go out and find me some if it's that important to you…"

            "Drusilla!" Buffy suddenly exclaimed, puzzling the hell out of Riley. "That was her name!"

            He laughed and leaned in to kiss her again. Their tongues battled for dominance as the kiss became more and more passionate. Finally, he pulled back, leaning his forehead against hers. "I'll miss you." Then he paused and said. "I love you."

            She sighed. "You do?"

            "Yes."

            She smiled and pecked him on the lips. "I love you."

            He growled. "Now go. Before I take you home and screw the living daylights out of you."

            She laughed lightly. "All right. But promise you'll do that when I get home?"

            "Definitely."

            She picked up the bag at her feet and, giving him a goodbye wave, walked up to her gate and boarded the plane. She settled into her seat after placing her bag in the overhead storage compartment and waited for the plane to take off. She opened her copy of Vibe Magazine and tried to read the articles while the already-crowded coach seating area became even more filled. Finally, everyone that packed him or herself onto the plane managed to get settled and the craft began to taxi down the runway. She sighed and leaned back, trying to relax. Flying made her nervous.

            She glanced around and inwardly groaned as she saw who was sitting across the aisle from her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him darting glances at her, as if he were trying to place her still. She prayed that he wouldn't and that she could get through the entire flight with out him recognizing her.

            He snapped his fingers. "Sunnydale High School, right?"

            So much for answered prayers. "Yes."

            He waggled his eyebrows. "Did you look this good in high school?"

            She laughed a little. "No."

            There was a moment of silence before he leaned over and said suggestively, "Did we ever…?"

            "No!" she yelped as she noticed the look on the face of the woman next to her. To the woman, she said, "We drove from Sunnydale, California to Las Vegas on the day we graduated." Buffy leaned back in her seat and sighed.

            "Would you two like to sit together?" the woman asked pleasantly.

            Before Buffy could object, she heard Spike say, "Great, thanks, ducks." And he and the lady quickly switched places. He smiled, still looking at her as if he was trying to place her identity. "You were a friend of…Oh, what was her name?"

            Buffy rolled her eyes. "Drusilla. I can't believe you don't remember her name."

            "What do you mean? Of course I remember her name… Drusilla Kent."

            "Kennedy," she bit off, shooting him an annoyed glance.

            "Kennedy, right." He smirked. "That's what I said. Whatever happened to her?"

            "I have no idea," Buffy sighed, shaking her head.

            Spike raised an eyebrow in irritation. "You have no idea? You were such good friends with her. We didn't _make_ it because you were such good friends with her," he said sarcastically.

            "You went with her," Buffy said simply.

            "Was it worth it?" Spike insisted. "This sacrifice for a friend you haven't even kept in touch with?"

            Buffy batted her eyes at him dramatically, before leaning in for a conspiratorial whisper. "Spike, you may not believe this, but I have never considered _not_ sleeping with you to be a sacrifice." She leaned back in her chair and stared straight ahead. 

            Spike winced as if wounded to the heart. Mentally, he commented, _Chit's still got fire in her…_ "Touche, luv." He thought for a moment. "You were going to be a swinger…"

            "Singer," Buffy corrected.

            "That's right. So, whatever happened with that?"

            She shrugged. "I've worked at some odd clubs here and there along the Strip. I'm on my way to L.A. to find myself an agent."

            "You know, I just so happen to _be_ one, don't you?" he winked.

            She feigned astonishment. "No, really? I completely didn't hear you tell Riley that a while ago."

            He nodded. "Great. A little less with the sarcasm and we'll be doin' fine, pet." He smiled. "And you're with Riley. That's peachy. You two have been together, what… three weeks?"

            Her eyes narrowed. "A month this Saturday. How do you know?"

            He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. "You take someone to the airport it's clearly the beginning of a relationship. That's why I, myself, have never taken anyone to the airport at the beginning of a relationship."

            "Why?"

            "Because eventually things move on and you don't take them to the airport anymore. I never wanted anyone to be able to say to me, 'How come you never take me to the airport anymore?'" He shrugged as he glanced over at her.

            Buffy looked at him for a moment before saying pensively. "It's amazing. You look like a normal person, but actually you're the angel of death…"

            Spike held back his laughter and just looked at her askance. "Are you going to marry him?"

            "We've only known each other a month. Besides, neither one of us is looking to get married right now."

            "I'm getting married."

            "You are?"

            "Yep," Spike stated, matter-of-factly.

            Buffy did a double take. "_You_ are?"

            "That's what I said, didn't I?" he replied, looking insufferably pleased with himself.

            "To whom?"

            "Harmony Kendall. She's a showgirl, therefore she's keeping her name when we tie the knot."

            Buffy shook her head and smiled. "You're getting married."

            Spike looked positively offended. "What's so funny about it?" 

            "It's just so optimistic of you."

            "You'd be amazed what falling madly in love will do for you."

            There was a moment of silence there. They stole glances at one another and finally the conversation picked up here and there before the plane finally landed at LAX.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five 

            They stood on the moving sidewalk running through LAX after they got off the plane, not really speaking. Spike turned to her after a while and asked, "So, you staying over?"

            "Yes."

            "Would you like to have dinner?" Buffy looked at him suspiciously and he covered with, "What? Just as friends."

            "Thought you said men and women couldn't be just friends," she countered saucily.

            His brows knit. "When did I say that?"

            "On the way out to Vegas that night."

            "No, no… Wait, yes, now I remember…" He thought for a moment, then began speaking, trying to work it all out believably. "…Unless both of them are with other people. Then they can. It's an amendment to the rule, you see. If the two people are in individual relationships then the pressure of becoming involved is lifted…" He thought again. "Although that doesn't really work either. What if the person you're involved with accuses you of being secretly attracted to the person you're 'just friends with'? Which, of course, you are, but would never admit, so that brings us back to the original rule that men and women can't be 'just friends'… so where does that leave us?" he finished, having completely confused himself.

            "Spike…" Buffy started.

            "Yes, Buffy?"

            "Goodbye," she smiled softly and walked away.

            "Okay." He nodded, shoving his hands in the pockets of his duster.

            _One year later, back in Vegas…_

            "So I just happened to see his American Express bill…"

            "Willow," Buffy interrupted her best friend, who was prattling on about her crush on a married man in the middle of the Personal Development aisle of the local Barnes & Noble. "How do accidentally see someone's credit card bill?"

            "Well, he was shaving. And I was all, 'Hey, look! He left his briefcase open.' So yeah, it was there in the open briefcase." The redhead blushed as she scanned the shelves in front of them. 

            "Wills," Buffy admonished, "what if he came out and saw you going through his briefcase?"

            Willow Rosenburg waved her hands in the air and sighed. "You're missing the point. I'm telling you what I found… He just spent $120 on a nightgown for his wife…" She frowned. "I don't think he's ever going to leave her."

            "Willow, honey…" Buffy hugged her friend around the shoulders. "No one does."

            "You're right. And when you're right you're right." Willow scanned the shelves before something caught her attention from the other end of the aisle. "Buffy, there's somebody staring at you from the poetry section."

            Buffy glanced over to where her friend's line of sight was focused and saw Spike sitting there looking at her. She turned back to Willow and smiled sarcastically, saying with a little too much pep, "I know him. You'd like him. He's married."

            "Who is he?"

            "William Benton. Or Spike. Whatever. He's an agent."

            Willow raised her eyebrows and leaned over to say softly, "He's sexy."

            Buffy darted a glance to Spike before turning to face Willow. "Really? Sexy?"

            "Yummy. How do you know he's married?"

            "Because the last time I saw him he was getting married."

            "When was that?"

            "A year ago." Buffy waved her hand dismissively. "Give or take a few months."

            Willow fixed her with a knowing look. "So he might not be married anymore."

            Buffy rolled her eyes again. "Also, he's annoying as hell."

            "This is just like in the movies, remember? Like in 'The Lady Vanishes', where she tells him, 'You are the most obnoxious man I've ever met…'" She trailed off at Buffy's blank look. "Okay, so maybe I'm the only one that likes that movie."

            "She said 'the most hateful'," Buffy corrected nonchalantly.

            Excited, Willow continued, "And then they fall madly in love…"

            Buffy sighed. "Also, he never remembers me."

            Her surprise registered on her face as she heard his voice drawl, "Buffy Summers…"

            Spinning, she smiled. "Hi, Spike."

            He fixed her with his patented smirk. "Thought that was you."

            "It is. This is Willow…" she turned to introduce her friend's rapidly retreating backside. "Er, _was_ Willow." She turned back to Spike and shrugged.

            "So," he laughed quietly. "How've you been doin', luv?"

            "Fine. You?"

            "That's great. How's good ol' Captain Cardboard doing?"

            "Riley?" Buffy winced inwardly. "I hear he's doing fine."

            Spike perked. "You're not with him anymore?"

            "We just broke up," she muttered, not meeting his eyes.

            "Aw, hell, that's too bad," he said with what he hoped sounded like sympathy.

            "Yeah, well, you know… So… How 'bout you?" she asked, turning the conversation around. "How's the married life?"

            "I'm getting a divorce," he shrugged.

            "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry." She met his gaze. "When did this happen?"

            "A couple of weeks ago," he said softly.

            "Really?" she frowned. "That's when Riley and I broke up."

            He raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that amazing."

            "Yeah, coincidence. Of course, it could just be the Halloween season, never knowing what to go as…" She smiled. "So what happened?"

            He kicked at imaginary dust bunnies on the floor. "She left me for a bloody writer."

            "An 'Angel'," she smirked.

            "Angel? Oh yeah," he laughed. "Right. Well, actually it was a 'Parker', but it's basically the same thing."

            "I'm sorry, Spike," she murmured, feeling really guilty for saying those things about him to Willow.

            "Yeah, well," he was saying, "what about you? What happened with you and your boy?"

            "We grew too far apart. We each wanted different things." She sighed and shrugged, heading out of the store, him following on her heels. They walked together a while before she broke the silence. "At least I got the apartment."

            He chuckled. "You know, everyone's been saying that to me, too… It's like when someone dies, they should just put the obituaries and the real estate ads together. Save typing and all that. You know, 'Mister Smith died, leaving his wife, two kids, and a spacious three-bedroom apartment with wood burning fireplace…"

            Buffy laughed and they shared a moment together, for the first time, with nothing but humor. It was completely free of useless chatter and snarky comments. 

            As the laughter died down, he looked at her thoughtfully. "You know, when we first met, I didn't like you that much…"

            Buffy smirked. "I didn't like _you_."

            "You did too," Spike insisted. "You just had your knickers in a twist. Now you're much softer."

            "I hate that kind of a compliment," Buffy replied vehemently. "It _sounds_ like a compliment, but really it's an insult."

            "Okay," Spike said easily. "You're still tough as nails."

            "You just didn't like the fact that I didn't want to sleep with you. So you wrote it off as some character flaw instead of thinking that it might _possibly_ have something to do with you," Buffy explained.

            Spike glared at her good-naturedly. "What's the statute of limitations on apologies, pet?"

            "Six years."

            "Oh, good. I just made it, then."

            Buffy smiled, meeting his gaze and getting lost in his eyes momentarily. Finally, she shook her head to clear the daze and said quietly, "Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?"

            Spike raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Are we becoming friends now?"

            "Well, I…" her voice trailed off as she thought about it. "I guess we could."

            "A woman friend," he mused, hiding his elation. "This is amazing. You may be the first attractive woman I have not wanted to sleep with in my entire life."

            Stung, Buffy nodded slightly. "That's… wonderful, Spike."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**:  This is an NC-17 chapter. Fair warning. I don't want to hear any complaints! Enjoy the gratuitous bickering and smut that follows. ;) (I don't think this is a scene that was actually in the movie…ponders) Chapter 6 

            He heard the phone ringing before he actually entered the apartment. His arms full of groceries and a couple of home furnishings, he fumbled through his duster pockets for his keys as the ringing continued. Finally managing to hook the key ring with his index finger and jam the key into the lock, turning it with his teeth, he jimmied the doorknob until the door swung open. Losing his balance, he fell face first onto the groceries, wincing when he heard something crack and _smoosh_. As the phone rang again, he jumped up, kicked the door shut, and a couple of curses later picked up the phone. 

            "Yes?" he barked.

            "Gee. Hello, to you too, Spike," Buffy said in a sarcastic tone.

            "Buffy. Hi," he said, shutting the door.

            "Am I interrupting something?"

            "No, no," he answered, gathering up his groceries from the floor of his empty apartment. He frowned. He definitely needed to get some furniture. Best thing he had was something to sleep on, and that was just a second-hand mattress with one set of sheets and a pillow. Harmony had taken all the furnishings when she'd moved out. _Stupid bitch._

"So, what's up?" he heard her ask on the other end of the line. "You're all bad moody."

            "Sorry, pet," he apologized, opening the door to the fridge in the kitchen and putting the few groceries he'd gotten inside. "Just came back from a spot of shopping."

            "Shopping pisses you off? That so settles it, I'm taking back any invitation you might have had to come to the mall with me tonight."

            His laugh was cut short as his hand reached the slimy mess that was a crushed carton of eggs at the bottom of the sack. Growling, he flung the mess in the general vicinity of the trashcan at the end of the kitchen counter. "Bloody hell," he griped, running his hand under warm water in the kitchen sink. "I think we're going to have to have a ceremonial burial for the eggs, luv."

            She made a sympathetic noise on the other end. "I'm sorry."

            "S'alright," he sighed. "Just gave up on omelets in the morning. Not that I have a skillet or anything anyway…" He smacked his palm against the nearest wall. Grabbing an ashtray out of an otherwise empty cabinet, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He took a much-needed drag of smoke and slowly blew it out through thinned lips.

            "You wanna borrow one?"

            "Borrow one what?"

            "Skillet. I've got an extra one."

            He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but now what am I going to cook in it? Dust and air? I'm a little egg-less, now, luv. Thus defeats the purpose for the skillet."

            She sighed dramatically. "If it will shut you up, I'll throw in a couple of eggs."

            After taking another lengthy puff, he smiled into the phone. "Could you please not throw them? How about you gently place them?"

            "You know, you're starting to make me wish I'd just continued reading my book instead."

            He gasped in mock astonishment. "You _read_?"

            "Yes," she said, as if she were speaking to someone inherently stupid. "I just found this really cool book. Like, how to release your inner passionate person, or something like that."

            He raised an eyebrow. _This could be interesting…_ he thought as he perched himself on the kitchen counter next to the ashtray and continued smoking his fag. "Go on," he urged.

            "Well, it says to try a new place to have sex in your home, each time you have sex." She sighed. "At the rate things are going with me, it'll be years and I'll be too arthritic to have it anywhere but a waterbed."

            He laughed deeply. "You know, luv, waterbeds are severely underrated."

            He could sense her blushing on her end of the line. "Yeah, well, it says examples, like the floor, or the kitchen table…"

            "Interesting," he mused. "As soon as I get a table that's the first thing I'll do with it."

            She let out a very unladylike snort. "Do me a favor, don't tell me about anyone that winds up on that table. I'll never eat over at your place. Ever."

            He waggled his eyebrows and, with sensuality dripping from his voice, purred, "Who said you'd be the one eating, pet?"

            There was a moment of silence, then she said in an innocent voice, "You know, I wonder what would happen if I pushed the 'Talk' button on my phone again…?"

            "Hey, you were the one that brought up the subject," he chuckled.

            "Yeah, yeah. Color me stupid." She turned the volume of the television up in the background and he could hear voices.

            "What'cha watchin', luv?"

            "_Casablanca_," she answered distractedly. 

            In the background, he heard Ingrid Bergman's voice pleading with Humphrey Bogart, and he rested his head back against the cabinet behind him. "Ah, yes. Now Ingrid Bergman. _There_ was a bird who was low maintenance."

            "Low maintenance?" came the confused response.

            "Yeah, there are two types of women: High maintenance and low maintenance."

            "And Ingrid Bergman is low maintenance?"

            "Damn straight."

            A pause. "What kind am I?"

            "Depends. Am I going to suffer bodily harm for answering this?" he joked.

            "Maybe. You'll just have to take your chances," she said smoothly.

            "Ah, well, I'm feeling a bit on the dangerous side anyway. You're the worst of all, actually. You're a high maintenance chit who firmly believes she's low maintenance."

            "Oh, I am not!" she protested.

            "You don't see it yourself? What about last week at that Italian place?" he laughed outright. Mimicking her, he said, "I'll have the fettuccini alfredo, but I want the noodles tender. I want to be able to cut them with a fork. And I don't want the alfredo sauce _on_ the noodles. Bring it to me on the side. I want to pour it myself. Oh, and I'll have the hot fudge sundae, but give me strawberry ice cream instead of vanilla, and I want the hot fudge lukewarm, and bring that and the other toppings on the side in separate little cups." He snickered. "On the side is a very big thing with you."

            "Well, I want it the way I want it," she insisted haughtily.

            "Yeah, well, I half expected that waitress to give you a whipped cream enema, she was so bloody pissed."

            "Eww, gross much?"

            He ran his tongue over the tops of his bottom teeth. "Always."

            He heard her flipping the channels, stopping on one with a lot of talking and laughter. "Damn talk shows, they have the weirdest subjects," she was saying.

            "Well, ducks, since I don't have a television, you'll have to just describe for me what it's about."

            She sighed. "It's about people and sexual dreams they have."

            He shook his head and snickered softly. "You and sex, luv. What's up with that? Feeling a bit repressed?"

            "Shut up."

            "Nice comeback, care to try again for a better prize?"

            "Keep it up, Spike. I'll come over there, tie you up, and beat you with this remote."

            "Ooh, luv. I love it when you talk bondage and punishment," he purred silkily.

            "You're such a pig. A very over-talkative, annoying pig," she huffed.

            "Ah, right. Keep telling yourself you hate me, but you know you love me. Chicks can't help but love me…"

            "Love, hate… Let's not get caught up in semantics," she said easily, "I just want to inflict bodily harm, up to and including violent death. Which category does that fall under?"

            He paused, feigning thought. "Eh, could go either way…"

            Later that evening, after he had ordered pizza and eaten it alone for the umpteenth night in a row, Spike rolled over on his back on his mattress and stared at the ceiling. For the last six years, every where he went, that bird was right around the corner, either in reality, or in someone else's face. He hated her at the moment that he first met her, but by the end of their first meeting, he was deeply intrigued by her. Of course, she was annoying as hell with her Royal Family ordering technique at restaurants, but he could work around that. He never figured he'd be friends with her, though. Date, maybe. Sleep with, he'd most definitely try for. What male wouldn't want to shag a girl as beautiful as her? But friends?

            He figured he was slowly but surely breaking down her defenses.  And she was starting to rub off on him. He'd told the pizza place that he wanted his pepperoni "on the side" earlier that evening. He shook his head and smiled, remembering the odd look the delivery guy had given him. She was definitely wearing him down, slowly replacing his mannerisms with her own. It was like a soddin' marriage, and they hadn't even kissed yet!

            He thought about all the times that they'd seen each other as friends in the last two weeks, what she wore, the way certain outfits fit just right in all the right places… Slowly he reached under the blanket, tracing the length of his rapidly growing hardness. In his mind's eye, he saw her walk into his bedroom, the moonlight shining through the window and illuminating her blonde tresses. She would be wearing nothing but a black silk negligee, no underwear, and would have a look of pure, unfettered lust in her hazel eyes. He imagined her crawling up the length of the mattress until she hovered directly over him, her pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips before she crushed them to his in a searing kiss. He could almost picture how she would feel around him as she wrapped her arms around his neck and slowly lowered herself onto his erection, stretching her tight walls, moaning with the pleasure of it all. He could taste her mouth against his as their tongues dueled in time with their passionate thrusts. 

            He thought of ripping the scrap of silk from her body, latching onto one of her rosy nipples and suckling hard as she rode him with even more fervor. He thought of losing himself in her molten core as he pumped into her again and again… then "watched" her throw her head back and scream his name as she clenched around him, coming hard at the exact moment he did…

            When Spike finally emerged from his fantasy, he realized he still had a vice grip around his cock, which was starting to go limp from exhaustion. The second thing he noticed was the sticky mess that had just recently been shot all over the underside of his only blanket. Grumbling, he wiped himself clean with the remainder of the blanket, flipped it over and told himself he would be making a stealthy trip to the Laundromat first thing in the morning.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note:  **Sorry it took so long to get this one written. I'm still struggling with chapter 11 to Love Me When I'm Gone, too. Writing's a bitch for me lately. Hope you all liked the last chapter… Please review. I had a skimpy Christmas; reviews would make me feel like I got presents! ::wigglez::

Chapter 7 

            "Oh, gods, Spike, have you ever seen such a hideous piece of furniture?" Buffy called out, trying not to attract too much attention to herself in the crowded furniture store. The salesman, however, overheard her and leveled her with a disapproving stare.

            Spike came over to her side to inspect the offending coffee table. The thing was carved out of wood and made into the shape of a wagon wheel. Trying to keep a straight face, he nodded slowly. "Yes, I have."

            She couldn't help herself as she giggled, "Where?"

            "My best friend's living room," he chuckled softly.

            They laughed for a moment as they continued to browse through furniture items. "Spike," Buffy murmured to him. "What about this table?"

            He looked at the cherry wood kitchen table she currently was resting her hand on. "Not bad," he said noncommittally. 

            "Will you put it in your dining room?"

            "If I have no other choice…"

            Fixating him with a glare while she waved a salesperson over, she stuck her tongue out. "You have no other choice."

            He smirked after rolling his eyes and leaned in to whisper to her, "Don't stick it out unless you plan to use it, pet."

            She turned three shades of red before turning her back to him and saying abruptly to the saleswoman, "We'd like this table and a matching set of four chairs."

            The woman smiled an oily smile and nodded. "Yes, it's a wonderful 'starter' table for newlyweds… You've made an excellent choice."

            Hearing Spike choke on air behind her, she blanched. "No no no! You don't understand! We're not married!"

            "Oh, engaged, then?"

            "No!" She rubbed the bridge of her nose and plastered a fake smile to her lips. "Just. Friends." She grabbed Spike by the lapels of his leather coat and shoved him towards the front of the store. "You: give her _your_ address for the delivery."

            Smirking over his shoulder at her, after having gained his composure, he purred, "But, luv, don't you mean _our_ address?"

            Hands on hips, she smiled a deadly smile. "You know, I could quite easily stake you through the heart with one of the legs of this table. Quickly, too, I might add…"

            "Going, pet. Going…" he conceded, following a rather confused saleslady.

            After buying him a bed – which he had insisted be king-sized with satin sheets – and dresser set, the kitchen table, a couch and an entertainment center, Buffy had finally called the shopping to a halt. "This is fine. We're through for now. I can't handle any more exciting shopping."

            He laughed. "That's rich, coming from a mallrat like you."

            "Hush. Lunch time," she said, playfully smacking him on the shoulder. "How about over there?" She pointed to a Sbarro's over in the food court. 

            Spike rolled his eyes. "Sure. Like I haven't had enough bleedin' fast food and pizza for the last six weeks." He grabbed her by the elbow and gently pulled her in the direction of the parking lot. "C'mon. We're eating _actual_ food in an _actual _soddin' restaurant."

            She laughed lightly and rolled her eyes. "Okay. You win. But it has to be Chinese."

            He winked. "Wouldn't have it any other way, pet."  
            They were halfway to his car when they heard an ear-piercing "Blondie Bear!"

            Stopping dead in his tracks, Buffy could have sworn she saw Spike shrivel up from the inside out. She raised an eyebrow as he clasped her hand in his and turned with a fake smile to the woman that had shrieked his embarrassing nickname. "Harm! My, imagine seeing _you_ out in the daylight, what with you being a creature of the night and all… Not enough vamp clubs in Las Vegas for you?"

            The blonde dancer put a hand on her hip and flipped her hair over one shoulder in annoyance. She sneered at the leather duster he never left home without and cast a disapproving glance in Buffy's direction. "Like you're one to talk. Gods, that Sid Vicious look was _so_ over with _last_ year."

            He raised his scarred eyebrow at her and smirked. "Funny, so were you, if memory serves."

Buffy tried to stifle the giggles she felt coming. She plastered a smile and innocent look on her face and waved at Harmony. "Hi, I'm Buffy."

            Harmony raised an eyebrow and replied, "Harmony Kendall," she sniffed snobbishly, "showgirl." She gestured to the man that stood partially behind her, taking one of his arms and wrapping it around her waist. "And this is Parker."

            Feeling Spike stiffen next to her, she decided to help save his pride. "Oh? Nice to meet you, Parker," she schmoozed, leaning into Spike's body and resting her head against the soft leather. She felt a sort of satisfaction in seeing Harmony's eyes narrow to slits at seeing her so close to Spike.

            Spike, on the other hand, was positively puzzled silly. He was also secretly thrilled to have her so close. He only wished that Harmony and her latest boy-toy were elsewhere and Buffy would still be wrapped around him. "Parker," he said, faking contemplation. "Somehow, I thought you'd be taller."

            Before the man could form a retort, Buffy furthered her acting ability by wrapping her arms around Spike's waist and saying in a suggestive tone, "William, I think it's time we got going… Don't _you_?"

            He nodded, wondering how he was going to walk casually to his car with the now-raging erection causing discomfort within the confines of his jeans. Tilting his head in his ex's direction, he smirked. "Harm, a pleasure, as always. Parker, keep her happy, mate, or don't. It's up to you…" With a salute, and an arm around Buffy's shoulders, he resumed his walk to the car. A speechless Harmony watched them go.

            As soon as they reached the car, Buffy disentangled herself from Spike's grasp and walked to the passenger side door. "Did you see the look on her face?" she giggled. "That was _so_ worth paying the ticketed price for…"

            "Yeah," he mumbled as he fished inside his duster pockets for his keys. "Thanks for the ego boost back there, luv." He hid his disappointment in her assumption that he didn't want it to be more, opening the car doors and sliding into the driver's seat. 

            "Oh," she gasped through her laughter as she got into the car, "not a problem. It was either that or tell her that her dress simply screamed crack whore…"

            They shared heavy laughter at that and he had trouble fitting the key into the ignition through the tears of humor that streaked down his face. Finally, he was able to get the key in and turned the engine over. As they pulled out of the parking lot, their chuckles having abated, he stole a glance over at the woman seated next to him. His little trip to the Laundromat last week, due to an exceptionally vivid daydream, was something she would never find out about. He was certain that she would never speak to him again, since her feelings didn't mirror his. When she spoke again, he felt a knot in the pit of his stomach.

            "You should get back into the dating scene again, Spike," she said, smiling softly. "It'd do you good. It's been a while since you and Harmony split. It's time to move on."

            He grit his teeth before replying. "What if I don't want to move on?"

            "Spike," she rubbed his forearm gently as he drove, noting how he tensed underneath her touch. "You can't carry a torch for a bimbo like that. She's not worth it. There are plenty of nice, caring women out there. She was never one of them. She's… plastic."

            _None of those women are you,_ he thought sullenly. "I've been with other women…"

She fought the recoil she felt at those words. _He's just a friend,_ she reminded herself. "Yes, Spike, but in a relationship?"

"What about you?" he responded. "You haven't dated anyone yet. And you've been single just as bloody long."

            Withdrawing her hand, she folded it with her other one in her lap. Staring at them, she said, "I'll go out and date again if you will. It'd be good for both of us."

            As they pulled up to a stoplight, he reached over and tugged on her chin. "You really believe that?"

            She thought for a moment. "Yeah. I do. In fact, that saleslady that gave you her number, remember her?"

            He nodded as he began driving again when the light turned green. "Yeah, Cordelia, wasn't it?"

            She grinned as she looked out the window. "I think you should give her a call."

            He sighed. The bint had been as vapid as Harmony, from what he'd observed, but he'd do it. If for no other reason than to prove to Buffy that he could, in fact, move on.

            After they had lunch and he dropped her off at her apartment, Spike went home, fishing the number out of one of his pockets. Picking up the handset to the phone, he dialed the seven digits and tried not to pace nervously until the woman answered the phone. When she finally picked up, he breathed deeply.

            "Hello, Cordelia?"

TBC 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

            "It was the worst night of my _life_," Spike grumbled as he helped Buffy unroll the rug in his living room. 

            She clucked her tongue in sympathy. "The first date back is always the hardest."

            He looked at her. "You've only been on one date since Riley. How do you know it won't get worse?"

            She stood straight, stretching out her back, and stared at him. "How much worse could it get? He waited till the end of dinner to tell me that he's a mortician and that, should I ever die, he'd be sure that he's the one to do my make up? That way, he said, I'd go down looking pretty."

            Spike winced. "Ouch." He shook his head. "You're still talking dream date compared to the horror that was an evening with Cordelia."

            "Do tell," she muttered, visually appraising the way the rug worked with the décor of the living room. 

            "First of all, the chit has _no_ sense of humor, whatsoever. I mean, we went to this Ethiopian restaurant, right? I make a joke about how I didn't think they had food in Ethiopia, so it'd be a quick meal." He caught Buffy smiling. "No smiling from her. No response. It was like… air passing through her ears."

            "It's gotta go this way," Buffy interrupted, gesturing at the rug.

            He helped her move it as he continued. "So anyway, I _finally_ manage to get the bint talking, and it turns out that she went to UNLV, and that gets me thinking about Harm, and I'm all bloody out of my head about it for the rest of the evening…"

            "Harmony went to the University of Las Vegas?"

            "No, she went to University of Nevada in Reno, but they're both in the same state, for cryin' out loud!"

            "Okay, okay," Buffy soothed while she straightened the rug. "So what happened?"

            "I had to leave the restaurant," he sighed, plopping down on his new couch.

            She gave one last appraising look to the rug before settling on the couch next to him. "Spike," she said softly, "it's going to take some time before dating again seems natural to us. Hell, who _knows_ how long it'll be before we're even comfortable to sleep with anyone…?"

            His eyebrows raised and he looked at her. "Oh, I didn't say I didn't sleep with her."

            "Oh." She was silent a moment as she processed this. "So… You _slept_ with her?"

            "Well, I admit, she's a bit cottony between the ears, but a bloke's got _needs_…"

            She let that sink in some more, trying to tamp down any shred of jealousy that threatened to poke through. "Oh," was all she said.

            He nodded, silently satisfied that he'd gotten to her a bit. "Yeah. So," he said, gesturing to the rug, "it's not too much black in the room, is it?"

            She looked askance at him. "Spike, your whole fucking apartment is black. Your clothes are black. The only thing not black is your hair."

            He curled his tongue against his upper teeth. "Aw, c'mon, luv… Gotta have _some_ varied taste."

            She threw a couch pillow in his face, thus beginning a rather violent pillow fight.

            That night, Spike was at the local pool hall, Balls in the Pocket, with his best friend, Oz.  His name was actually Daniel Osbourne, but to everyone that mattered, it was just "Oz." Normally the quiet type, Oz was currently ribbing his friend about his friendship with Buffy. He bent over, lining up his shot.

            "So, Spike, man…" He paused as he took the shot, sunk the ball in a corner pocket, then straightened to look at his friend. "I just don't get this relationship you're in."  
            Innocently, Spike eyed the pool table, sipping his beer. He watched Oz as he lined up another shot. "What do you mean?"

            "You enjoy being with her?" came the reply as the shorter man rounded the table.

            "Yeah."

            "You find her attractive?" He took his shot.

            Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. "Extremely. Where's this going, mate?"

            "And you're not sleeping with her?" The tone in the other man's voice was that of skepticism.

            Spike set his beer down on the table behind him, taking a seat in one of the chairs. "No."

            "So, what are you afraid of? Don't want to let yourself be happy?" Oz leaned up against the pool table, twirling a cue between his fingers.

            "Oz, man, I don't see why you're not happy for me," Spike protested. "This is a big step for me, mate. Being friends with a woman and not having sex with her. I feel like I'm growing…"

            "Hey," a teenager behind Oz interrupted. "You done shootin', yet, guys? I got me a whole bunch of quarters and we're wantin' to play." He gestured to his buddies next to him.

            Spike snorted. "No, we're not done. We were here first. Go do your laundry with those quarters of yours."

            The teenager rolled his eyes and Spike swore he heard "Asshole" muttered by the group as they walked away.

            Sighing and taking another sip of beer, Spike lit up a cigarette. He looked at Oz, who had a silently amused smile on his face. "Now, where was I?"

            "You were growing." Oz gestured to the table. "It's your shot."

            "Oh, here. Hold this, will you?" He held out his cigarette to Oz, who gingerly held the filter between his thumb and index finger. Assessing the pool table, Spike continued. "It's very freeing, really. I can say anything to her."

            "You can't say anything to me?" Oz retorted, amused.

            "Not like that, mate. It's just from a woman's perspective. Entirely different animal." He leaned over, lining up his shot. "She tells me about the men she goes out with, and I tell her about the women I see." He took the shot and missed it.

            "You tell her about other women?" the other man replied doubtfully as he handed Spike back his lit cigarette.

            "Yeah, man," Spike said, taking a drag off his fag. "Like, for instance, the other night with Cordelia, I took her to a place that wasn't even human. She actually _meowed._"

            Oz stopped, mid-shot. "You made a woman meow?"

            "Yeah, see, that's the point," Spike asserted, more for his own benefit than for Oz's. "I can say these things to her and not worry about it or lie to her, because I'm not trying to get her into bed or anything. I can just be myself."

            Oz just stared at him, mouth open. "You made a woman _meow_?"

            The next day, Spike and Buffy sat in their now favorite Chinese restaurant. After receiving their meals, Buffy twirled her fork in her chow mein, her brow creased in thought. "So," she said, "what do you do with these women?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "You just get up out of bed and leave after it's over?"

            He nodded, taking a bite of sweet and sour pork. "Pretty much," he admitted nonchalantly.

            "Explain. I mean, what do you say that makes them _not_ throw heavy objects at you?" she laughed, taking a bite of her own food.

            "Well, that I have to get to the office early in the morning, or that I have to meet a friend for drinks or business." He shrugged as he chewed another bite of pork. "Stuff like that."

            She rolled her eyes. "Spike, you never get to the office any time before ten o'clock."

            "They don't know that, pet," he pointed out. "They just met me."

            "That's disgusting," she muttered, shaking her head.

            "I know," he grinned, completely unrepentant. "I feel terrible." He took a large bite of eggroll.

            She sighed and stabbed at her pepper steak. "I am _so_ glad I never got involved with you. I'd just have been another chick that you rolled out of bed with. You would have told me something like, 'Oh, I have to get the dog groomed today.' And you don't even have a dog!" She muttered around a bite of steak, thoroughly perturbed.

            He blinked, confused. "What are you so upset about? This isn't about you, luv."

            "Yes it is," she bit back, chin raised defiantly. The defiance was comically off-set by the sauce dripping down from one corner of her mouth. "You're a walking insult to all women, and I'm a woman."

            "Good to know," he said, biting back a laugh. "For a second there I was worried." He shrugged and opened a packet of sweet and sour sauce, pouring it over his pork. "Besides, the women I'm with, they have an okay time. I don't hear any complaints." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

            "And you know this how?" she asked, her own eyebrows risen in skepticism.

            He stared. "What do you mean? I just _know_," he said, gesturing for emphasis.

            "Oh, you _know_, do you?" 

            "What," he laughed. "You're saying they'd fake it? With me?"

            She giggled and rolled her eyes. "Spike, you think you're god's gift to women… It's entirely possible that they _have_ faked it." 

            He was too insulted to formulate a reply. He settled for choking on a piece of pork, turning a lovely shade of beet red while he raised an eyebrow at her.

            She laughed and continued with her hypothesis. "Most women have faked it, at one time or another."

            "Yeah," he coughed, recovering and drinking some water. "Well, not with me, they haven't."

            "How do you know?"

            "I just know."

            "Oh, right," she sighed. "Because you're a _man_."

            "What's that supposed to mean?" he argued.

            "Oh, nothing… It's just that all men are so positive that it never happens to them, but yet all women have done it at least once in their lives." She smiled sweetly at him and took an exaggerated bite of her own eggroll. "You do the math."

            "You think I can't tell the difference?"

            She shook her head. "Not if your life depended on it."

            "Oh, bloody hell…" he laughed. "Please…"

            She stared at him for a moment, smiled, and looked down at her plate. After a moment of chewing, a low moan came from her throat. He watched as she shifted slightly in her seat, as if uncomfortable. She moaned again, her lips forming a perfect "O". "Oh…oh, god…" 

            Alarmed, he leaned over to pat her shoulder. "Are you all right, luv?"

            She threw her head to the side, continuing her moaning. "Oh, god…god, yes, great…perfect…oohhhhhhhhh," she moaned again, gyrating her hips on the seat. She bucked softly against the leather of the booth, throwing her head back. "God! God, yes! Oh, honey! I'm coming… baby, yes! Oh, oh, oh… ohhhh… Yes! Yes! Yes! So good, so fucking good… Please… Don't stop… OHHHH!" She reached her crescendo, froze for a moment, and then sagged against the booth, a blissful smile plastered against her face, apparently panting for breath. "Thank you, thank you, baby…Oh, god…Damn…" She took a deep, shuddering breath, her eyelids hooded in what appeared to be passion, and then sat up straight. Daintily, she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin and stared him straight in the eye.

            Spike was frozen, hand halfway to her shoulder, his mouth dropped open in utter shock. Dimly, he was aware of the other patrons of the restaurant staring in their direction. He saw Buffy looking back at him innocently as she took a healthy bite of pepper steak. She smiled and batted her eyes, flipping her blonde hair over one shoulder. One waiter dropped a glass.

            In the background of complete silence, they both heard an elderly woman lean over to her waiter and say, "I'll have whatever _she's_ having."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Buffy stood at the kitchen counter with her younger sister, Dawn, making Christmas cookies. As Dawn fanned her oven mitt over the cooling pastries, Buffy held a pastry tube over them and created little colorful, Christmas-looking, squiggle-drawings on them. Dawn blinked after Buffy finished one of the cookies, leaning in closer to take a look at the image created.

"A dog?" she asked in confusion, looking to Buffy for clarification.

Buffy sighed and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind one ear as she continued trying to squeeze out a Christmas tree on the next cookie. "It's a reindeer."

"Looks like a dog, to me," Dawn commented.

Frowning, her older sister turned to her. "Say one more thing and I'll show you a whole new way to eat that cookie."

Wide-eyed, Dawn backpedaled and headed for the fridge for something to drink. "Touch-y," she said in singsong. "What's crawled up your ass and died?"

Putting down the pastry tube momentarily to brush the same strand of hair out of her face, Buffy shook her head and sighed. "His name was Scott Hope, if you must know."

"And he died while crawling up your ass?" After receiving a Death Glare from her sister, Dawn held her hands up in surrender. "Sorry. Please continue. I love hearing about your dates that go wrong."

Staring at her for a moment, Buffy finally said, "He has a dirt collection."

"A what?" Dawn sat on the stool at the breakfast nook with an incredulous look on her face.

"You heard me. He takes these old-style coke bottles, empty of course, and fills them with dirt every time something 'important' happens." 

"Such as?" 

Waving her hands in the air for emphasis, getting some of the icing on the ceiling in the process, Buffy shook her head. "Like… When Clinton was elected, for instance. The first time, I mean. When O.J. got off for his wife's murder. Stuff like that."

"He was _at _these events?"

"No," Buffy sighed. "He would go out to his backyard and scoop some of his _own_ dirt into the bottle every time these things happened. Then he'd label them and put them on a shelf in his bedroom."

Dawn nodded. "Okay. Getting the wiggins just _hearing_ about the man. Don't explain the date, for my sake?" She stuck her hand into an open bag of chips that was lying on the counter, munching on one before saying, "I don't understand why you don't just get involved with your friend Spike. I mean, he's _totally_ hot."

"Dawn, shush. We're just friends."

"But if you could be more…?" Dawn persisted.

"No," Buffy insisted firmly. "He's just…"

"He's what? A friend with a cute ass?"

"Dawn!" Buffy gasped, scandalized that her "baby" sister could think that way. "No, he's… a mess."

Dawn looked over to where Buffy was intent on decorating a cookie with "Spike" on it. A green and red heart encircled the name. Raising an amused eyebrow at her, Dawn remarked, "So why are you making a cookie for him?"

Buffy paused, staring at her handiwork before shrugging in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. "He's a nice mess."

The Christmas holidays passed by in a blur, with only minor encounters with Spike. Buffy was fine with that, she wasn't in the mood for company. It would only further her feeling that she was truly alone during the holidays. However, Spike had somehow managed to talk her into going to a New Year's Eve party at some ritzy Las Vegas Strip hotel with her. Now, she danced to some old-style tune in the middle of a crowded dance floor. Some far corner of her brain insisted that it wasn't half bad being pressed against him like this, as he dipped her in time to the song, but she tamped the annoying voice down. Friend. Spike-shaped friend. Nothing more.

"I want to thank you for taking me out tonight, Spike," she said, breathlessly, as he brought her back up. She was all-too-aware that their faces were mere inches from each other's.

Obviously, he noticed this too, as his Adam's apple bobbed with the hard swallow he forced himself to take. Smiling in a casual manner, he winked at her, continuing their dance by moving his hips slightly against hers. "Think nothing of it, luv. And next year, if neither one of us gets lucky, you've got a date then, too."

Buffy laughed as she said into his ear, "Deal."

They danced for a moment, staring into each other's eyes, each lost in their own thoughts. Buffy's thoughts were a swirl of confusion, and she could see from the stormy blue his eyes had changed to that his were as well. Her breath was coming in shorter gasps, which had nothing to do with the mild exertion of their dancing. His face was suddenly all too close to hers, and she found herself not moving away. Her traitorous lips parting slightly in anticipation further shocked her.

Then, suddenly, he pulled back, as if remembering himself. The moment was officially halted. Looking at her for an instant, he said softly into her ear, "Do you want to go outside and get some air?"

Buffy swallowed hard, nodding awkwardly. "If you do."

He offered her his arm and she took it with a dramatic flourish. Their laughter offset the nervousness they both had been feeling. As they crossed to the patio, he took a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket and lit it. They stood in silence as she watched him smoke. He watched her watching him.

Buffy finally sighed and looked him straight in the eyes. "Do you think the fact that we're friends is what's keeping us from finding other people?"

Spike almost choked on his smoke, laughing softly after he finished coughing. "Yes, pet. I do," he said solemnly. "I think we should stop being friends, go home right this minute and shag each other bleedin' silly."

He watched in surprise, as she appeared to seriously consider this. Finally, after a pause, she shook her head. "No, you don't mean that," she said, more to herself, as if in reassurance. "You know you don't."

He was about to protest that he _did_, in fact, mean it, at least in part, when the crowd inside began to count down. 

_10 – 9 – 8 – 7 – 6 - …_

Buffy looked at Spike with an expression that was akin to a deer caught in the headlights. She knew New Year's tradition as well as he did. Butterflies flew around frantically in her stomach.

_5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1…_

Spike licked his lips nervously, eyes focused on Buffy doing the same. Tentatively, he took a step closer to her, marveling as she did the same. He watched as she quickly worried her lower lip between her teeth in anticipation, and was about to open his mouth to reassure her that she didn't have to kiss when…

_HAPPY NEW YEAR!_

…All thought was pushed out of his mind as she reached out and pulled his face to hers, crushing his mouth with a kiss. He froze for a moment in shock, then wound his arms around her lithe figure, returning the kiss with ardor. Their lips played over each other's, teeth venturing small nibbles here and there at the lower lips. When she opened her mouth slightly to allow him further access, he hesitated. It was brief, his pause, allowing him only enough time to catch his breath before crushing her body against his as he invaded her waiting mouth with his tongue. They gasped and moaned against each other as hands began their inevitable search of each other's body. Tongues battled for dominance as their heads tilted to allow each other deeper access in the kiss. As passions stoked, so did their breaths run out all too soon. Pulling back, Spike gasped softly for breath, trying desperately to control the now-difficult strain his erection caused within his pants. Resting his forehead against hers, he stroked her bare shoulders with the backs of his fingers. 

She stared into his eyes, likewise panting for breath, wondering what the hell they had both done. _Oh, but gods, it was good…_ Aloud, she said in a soft, husky voice, "Happy New Year, Spike."

Closing his eyes briefly before staring back into hers, he allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk upwards in a smile. "Happy New Year, Buffy."

Neither spoke what was on their minds.

Neither said to the other the question that plagued them, that they both wanted to answer, but would never admit to.

_What happens now?_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

            The following week, Willow and Buffy were walking down the strip to a local Italian restaurant. Since they had met up at Willow's apartment, the redhead had done nothing but prattle on and on about her sordid love life. At one point, she said something that actually peaked Buffy's interest however, and the blonde turned to her friend in surprise.

            "You actually sent yourself flowers?"

            Willow nodded morosely. Then she waved her hands in the air in aggravation. "Sixty dollars I spent on this stupid big floral arrangement, with this little card I planned to leave where Xander would just 'happen' to notice it."

            "What'd it say?"

            Willow sighed. "Please say yes. Love, Jonathan."

            Buffy's hand flew to her mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh. "Oh, Wills, _not_ Jonathan." Off her friend's nod, Buffy asked, "So, what'd Xander say to that?"

            Willow blew air out through thinned lips and shook her head. "He never even came over. Got roped into some charity thing his bitch-wife Anya was throwing." She turned to Buffy with expressive doe-eyes. "He's never going to leave her."

            Buffy sighed as she felt the urge to shake some sense into Willow by force. "Of course not, honey. We all know this."

            "You're right," the redhead responded, trying to convince herself. "You're right, you're right. Definitely." She paused then sighed. "It's just… This whole thing is enough to make me just want to become a lesbian."

            Buffy laughed and shook her head.

            "So," Willow asked. "Where is this place?"

            "Somewhere in the next block or so."

            "I can't believe I'm doing this."

            "What, eating dinner?" Buffy asked in confusion.

            "No, doofus," Willow replied. "Letting you set me up."

            "Look," Buffy rationalized. "Spike is one of my best friends. _You_ are one of my best friends. If for some reason you two manage to hit it off, then we can all remain friends, instead of drifting apart if you both find other people."

            Willow looked at her with a funny expression. "We haven't drifted apart since I started seeing Xander…"

            "If you wound up with Xander and he ever actually _left_ Anya, we would," Buffy insisted.

            "He's never going to leave her," Willow pouted.

            Buffy rolled her eyes discreetly. "Of course he isn't."

            This was followed by another litany of "you're right" by Willow as they continued walking to the restaurant.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Oz shook his head at Spike as they continued from their end of the sidewalk towards the restaurant as well. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this, man. If she's so great, why aren't _you_ going out with her?"

            "Look, mate," Spike said, blowing out the smoke he had inhaled from his cigarette. "I told you, we're _just friends_."

            "So, you're saying she's not that attractive?"

            "Hell no! The bint's gorgeous!"

            "But you said she had a great personality," Oz protested.

            "Well, she does." Spike shook his head as he muttered to himself. "Bloody great personality."

            "Look," Oz rationalized. "Whenever someone's described as having a 'great personality', that means she's too fugly for any guy in his right mind to take out."

            Spike felt a pang of offense on Buffy's behalf before insisting. "Oz, man, if I'd _only_ said that she had a great personality, you might have had a point. But I also told you the bird was a looker. What more do you want?"

            There was silence before Oz asked again, "So, which one is she?"

            "She's bloody attractive as hell."

            "But not beautiful, right?"

            Spike only glared at his friend in response.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Once the four had met up and sat within the restaurant ordering drinks, conversation began to progress between them. Buffy and Spike struggled to avoid each other's gaze, for fear that they wouldn't be able to see their plans to match their friends up with them through.

            "So, luv," Spike drawled casually to Willow. "Where are you from?"

            "New York City," she replied bouncily. "You?"

            "I'm from Sunnydale, California."

            Willow's brow creased in a small frown. "I've never heard of it."

            "It's a nice place to live," he said.

            "Oh, I'm sure it is," she agreed politely.

            Everyone traded awkward glances before staring at their menus. Buffy sighed as she re-read the same list of entrees for the umpteenth time. 

            Spike watched her twirl a strand of hair around her finger and wondered again why he was talking to her friend instead of taking Buffy home and pressing her into the mattress of his bed. "So," he said to the group. "Are we ready to order yet?"

            Willow sighed and shook her head. "I can't make heads or tails of the menu. I mean, I've never eaten at an Italian restaurant before. I always eat Chinese."

            A smile quirked Spike's lips as he looked Buffy in the eye. "Well, luv, we can't exactly eat Chinese nowadays."

            Willow frowned. "Why not?"

            Buffy cleared her throat in a warning that Spike promptly ignored. "Buffy has seen to it that we are effectively _persona non grata_ as far as the restaurant's managers are concerned."

            Buffy flushed bright pink as she glared at Spike, kicking him under the table for good measure. She stared down at her menu and derailed the conversation by announcing, "I'll have the fettuccini alfredo."

            Spike smirked and turned to Oz. "Mate, Buffy is a terrific orderer. It's not that she just always picks the greatest thing on the bloody menu, but she orders it in such a way that not even the chef could have predicted how great it would turn out."

            As Oz looked at him in amused confusion, Spike's other shin received an equally harsh kick. Looking up, he easily caught the murderous glint in Buffy's eyes. He smiled and shrugged politely.

            Willow leaned back and began humming softly. As she drummed her fingers lightly on the table, waiting for the waitress to come by their table, Oz looked at her in curiosity. She stopped and stared back at him. "What?" she asked politely.

            Oz shook his head. "That song, 'Drowning in You'? I wrote it."

            Willow looked at him, fish mouthed. "You did? You're the lead singer of Dingoes Ate My Baby? Oh my goddess! I _love_ your band!" She shook her head. "I can't believe I didn't recognize you!"

            Oz smiled back at her. "Yeah, no one's ever sung one of my own songs to me before," he laughed.

            Buffy and Spike just stared at their friends as they appeared to hit it off with each other more than the people they were _intended_ to be paired up with.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            After the meal, the foursome practically waddled out of the restaurant, having eaten enough to support a small platoon. Spike stretched his arms over his head and groaned as his full stomach protested. "That was a great bite," he announced casually. "Want to walk around a bit?"

            The other three agreed and they started meandering aimlessly down the sidewalk. Somehow, Willow and Oz had become inseparable and fell easily into step beside each other. Buffy and Spike walked awkwardly in silence, trapped next to each other, neither of them admitting that they secretly preferred it that way. As they walked past a dress shop, Buffy felt herself yanked by the arm over to the display window. Turning, she saw Willow's flushed face.

            "Buffy," she gasped.

            "Do you like him?" Buffy asked hopefully. _Please, oh please, Wills,_ she pleaded mentally. _Take him off my hands so I don't wind up doing something he'll regret…_

            "Spike?" Willow's frown reappeared. "Oh, yeah, I mean he's nice and all… But his friend, Oz?" She sighed dreamily. "Can I have him?"

            Buffy stood there, shocked for a moment. "Uh… s-sure… I guess," she floundered. 

            "Oh, thanks, Buff!" Willow exclaimed happily, throwing her arms around her friend's neck in a hug.

            Patting her back, Buffy gasped, "Willow, oxygen becoming an issue, sweetie."

            "Oh, sorry," the redhead apologized, pulling back with a smile.

            "It's okay," Buffy sighed, wondering what she would do about Spike now. Hoping to stall her friend, she said conspiratorially, "It's just… Spike's been going through this rough 'alone time' and he's fragile now. Although, being the total guy, he'd never admit it… But, for his ego's sake, don't reject him right away, okay?"

            Willow nodded. "Oh, totally."

            Meanwhile, Oz had leaned over to Spike while they watched the girls have their secret conversation. "If you don't think you're going to call Willow, do you mind if I do, man?"

            Spike looked at the shorter man in surprise. "Well, no," he said slowly, not without a small glimmer of happiness in the back of his mind. "But, for Buffy's sake, wait a bit? The chit's been through hell in the dating world, lately. Give it about a week, eh, mate?"

            Oz shook Spike's hand and winked. "Oh, I completely understand. Thanks man."

            The women joined them and they continued walking, coming in short time to a spot on the street where the taxis were lined up, waiting for their fares.

            Willow stretched in a dramatic display of exhaustion. "Well," she yawned. "I'm beat. I think I'll be going home now. I think I'll just catch a cab…"

            Oz jumped in with, "I'll go with you."

            "Great!" Willow beamed, trying to hide her excitement, as they both jumped into the back seat of a nearby cab and it sped off.

            Buffy turned to Spike in surprise as he stared back at her. They stood in silence, contemplating their bizarre evening and the abandonment by their friends. Finally, Buffy raised an eyebrow and gestured down the street.

            "Baskin Robbins?"

            Spike nodded and lit a cigarette. "Bloody right."

            They shook their heads and laughed as they proceeded to the ice cream shop to drown their sorrows.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's note:**   For those of you who were confused, the reason Spike and Buffy were trying to set each other up with their friends was because after that kiss on New Year's, they were very confused (just like in the movie) and figured the easiest way to stay friends was if they were both dating other people. See, they're still in denial, guys. They want to hold true to the "let's just be friends" bit, but they really secretly want to get into each other's pants. Makes for interesting reading. ::shrug:: I think, anyway. ;)

Chapter 11 

            Buffy was slamming things around in the kitchen in frustration over the date-gone-wrong the previous evening. She thought that she could just stay friends with Spike by pairing him up with Willow, and he'd obviously felt the same way about her and his friend Oz. What do Willow and Oz do? Completely screw things up, of course, by pairing off with _each other_.

            _Well_, she thought to herself. _On the plus side, at least Oz isn't married and Willow's still head over heels for him… Maybe she'll get her thoughts off of Xander after all…_

            Finally settling on something to make for breakfast, she sighed as she prepared to scramble the eggs. She was _not_ looking forward to having to spend the next couple of months avoiding Spike. She _loved_ spending time with him… that wasn't the issue. Or maybe it was, she enjoyed it too much. Either way, they were "just friends" and friends didn't jump each other's bodies. She reminded herself of that repeatedly, since she knew that the next time she saw Spike her willpower would be put to the test.

            _Besides,_ she reiterated to herself. _He keeps making it quite clear that we're nothing but friends, so he obviously doesn't want anything more…_

            She had no idea that a certain bleached blonde was thinking the exact same thoughts about her across town…

_Two months later_…

            "Well, I don't see what we have to buy them a present for, pet. They're not even getting married, just moving in together," Spike protested from behind Buffy as she continued to browse through the DAPY store in the mall.

            As she made various faces over the bizarre and downright risqué merchandise that the store had to offer, she threw a glare over her shoulder at him. "Spike, how many times do I have to tell you? It's a _housewarming_ present. Polite people give them to their friends when they move into a new home."

            "I think it's just another bloody way to wrestle more free stuff out of a person," he grumbled, jamming his hands into his pockets and ignoring the fresh glare sent to him from the petite blonde.

            They spent a few more minutes rifling through the shelves of knick-knacks and peculiar pop culture items before Buffy turned to Spike and sighed. "We're never going to find anything here. We should have just gone to the bookstore. Willow's always got her nose in some book…" Her voice trailed off as she noticed she didn't have his attention at all.

            He was staring at a lunch box with "I Love Lucy" painted on it in 50's-era colors. His chin was set so as not to betray emotion, but that effort was scuttled by the betrayal of his eyes, which were expressing sorrow in waves. When he finally noticed that Buffy was staring at him in open concern, he turned to her. "Harm always loved that show, couldn't get enough of it. Always thought she'd gone bloody daft, but she couldn't get enough of it…"

            Sighing, Buffy gently took Spike by the elbow and led him out of the store. "Come on, let's go. We'll pick out a book at B. Dalton and then we'll get some Haagen Dazs. Sound good?"

            He numbly nodded and followed her to the bookstore down at the other end of the mall.

            One coffee table book and four scoops of Haagen Dazs later, the pair were sitting in Willow and Oz's new living room, watching the couple argue over the coffee table itself. Buffy had to stifle a smile at the sight of the much-reviled wagon-wheel that Spike had told her about at the furniture store a while back. She now knew whose bad taste had been involved in its purchase as she looked with innocent doe eyes in Oz's direction.

            "It says 'home' to me," the shorter man was arguing.

            "Fine, we'll let Spike and Buffy decide," Willow appeased him, still defiant about the coffee table. "Guys?"

            Spike jerked his head up from where he had been staring off into space at the carpet. Buffy shot him a glance of sympathy and patted his knee before turning back to the arguing couple. She was fumbling for words, blinking rapidly, and thinking what she could say that would be the least likely to cause fallout.

            Spike, meanwhile, had caught a meaningful glare from Oz, glanced at the coffee table and suppressed a shudder. With a forced casual shrug, he said, "It's nice, I suppose."

            "Ha!" Oz said. "There you have it."

            Buffy wrinkled her nose and Willow caught the gesture, saying, "You see? Those of us with actual taste recognize this for the eyesore it is, sweetie."

            Oz shot Spike a pleading look. "Man, someone has to be on my side here."

            "I'm on your side," Willow soothed, "I'm just trying to help you have good taste."

            "This coming from the woman who dresses like she was attacked by homosexual gypsies," Oz snarked back at her.

            Spike shot to his feet, suddenly, pacing around the sparsely decorated apartment in a distracted fashion. "We started like this, Harm and I. Had bloody nice carpeting, blank walls, we hung pictures and put furniture everywhere. What happens? A year later I'm mesmerized by a soddin' _I Love Lucy_ lunchbox!"

            Buffy smiled at her friends before saying to Spike, _sotto voce_, "Spike, I know you're upset, but do we have to do this now?"

            "Bugger all, we'll talk about it right now, so they can see what they're getting into!" Spike said, raising his voice. "Put your names on all the things that you came in with, ladies and gentlemen," he continued, spreading his arms out theatrically. "Because sooner or later, you'll be dividing things up, wondering whose is whose, and you'll be fighting over this _bloody coffee table_!" He kicked the wagon wheel for good measure.

            Oz looked at him blankly. "I thought you said you liked it?"

            Spike whipped a cigarette out while he headed for the door. Turning to face his friend, he yelled, "I was being bloody _polite_, goddammit!" With that, he slammed the door behind him.

            Buffy looked at her friends' dumbfounded expressions and apologized quickly. "He just ran into something today that reminded him of Harmony."

            As she ran out to follow Spike, Willow turned to Oz with placating eyes. "I want you to know that never, in a million years, will I _ever_ want this coffee table."

            Downstairs, as Buffy came up on Spike's position, she saw him pacing the sidewalk in front of the apartment stairs. He was smoking at a rapid rate, and when he saw her he shook his head in self-recrimination. "I know, I know, shouldn't 'ave bleedin' done that."

            "Spike, you have to find a way to _not_ offend people every time you have a personal crisis." Buffy sat down on the bottom step and buried her head in her hands.

            "Well, Emily Post," Spike snarled around his cigarette, "when you're giving your next lecture in social graces let me know. I'll sign the fuck up."

            "You're about to cross the line, Spike," Buffy warned him, her eyes flashing.

            "Is that what this is about? The world's going to end over 'crossing the line'? Your problem is you stand too far behind the line. In fact, I don't even think the line is in the same bloody zip code from where you're standing…" He threw down the expired cigarette and reached for another one.

            Buffy, meanwhile, had shot up from her position on the stairs, pacing like he had before shooting him a glare and walking past him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

            He grabbed her by the arm, looking her in the eyes. "Nothing bothers you, luv. I never see _anything_ get to you."

            "That's bullshit," she snapped.

            "Really? Where were your tears when Captain Cardboard took the last boat out of here? I never see any come to your eyes when you think about him. Hell, I don't even know that you bloody well _do_ think about the stupid bugger."

            She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him defiantly. "I've experienced my mourning period, I've dealt with my loss. I'm over it."

            "Mourning period?" He laughed. "One hour in the Gap? You bought a new sweater and grief flew right out the bleedin' window?"

            "I don't have to take this from you," she snarled, breaking out of his grip to continue walking away.

            He caught her arm again, this time pressing her back against the wall so she couldn't try to escape again. "If you're so over Riley, then why haven't you started dating other people?"

            "I see people," she muttered, not meeting his gaze.

            "See people? Pet, let me ask you something. Have you slept with _one_ person since Riley left you?"

            She felt her ire rise to a whole new level, shouting back in his face so loudly that he let go of her, startled. "So that's the key to mending a broken heart? Sleeping with people? Well, Spike, I suppose you'll have to pack up and move to _Utah_ because you've already slept with every woman in the state of Nevada, and I don't see you _any_ closer to being over Harmony." She got as close to him as she could so that she was right in his face. "And when I sleep with someone, I want it to be making love. Not do things the way you do them, like you're out for some sort of revenge against Harmony that the stupid bitch would _never_ notice or _care_ about!"

            He stood there, shocked still, and just stared at her as she breathed deeply to compose herself. Finally, he asked softly, "Are you done?"

            She sighed. "Yes."

            He offered her his arm and she reluctantly took it, allowing him to lead her back up the stairs and into their waiting friends' apartment.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12 

            Spike paced around his bedroom, trying to find something to occupy his time. Finally, he settled on lounging on his bed and flipping through channels on the television. It had been a week since he and Buffy had the argument at that apartment complex, and he had been battling his inner demons ever since. On the one hand, he knew she was right about the sex and his using it as a form of twisted revenge… but she only got that part of it right. There was more. He slept with other women to pass the time. He was intimate with them because he couldn't be intimate with her. The pain that he felt when confronted with memories of Harmony was only there because he was also confronted with the realization that he was still alone. 

            He was scared to be alone, and not even Buffy knew that dark secret of his.

            He growled and flopped onto his stomach on the mattress, desperately trying to concentrate on the commercials. Anything to keep his mind off of being alone, and of not having Buffy. He wished he could just tell her that he would drop all of those other women without a second thought for her, that he wanted to be with her as _more_ than a friend. He knew, however, that she would instantly laugh in his face.

            _Either that or never talk to me again…_

            The phone rang, almost scaring him into rolling off the bed. He lunged at the phone, bringing it to his ear. "State your piece," he quipped to whomever was on the other end of the line.

            "Spike?" Buffy's wavering tone came over the line to his ear. "Are you alone?"

            His senses were instantly on alert, instantly realizing that something was wrong. "Yeah, pet, what's wrong?"

            She sighed and he could hear rustling of something like tissue in the background. "Can you come over?" she finally replied softly.

            "Of course, luv. I'll be right over." 

            He was out the door so quickly he barely had time to hang up the phone properly. He practically ran down the Strip to where Buffy's apartment was located at the other end. He was out of breath, sweat trickling down the back of his neck, but she was worth it. Even if they were just friends, he wanted to be there for her during whatever was hitting her this hard. He flew up the flight of stairs and knocked on the door to her apartment.

            A muffled "Come in" was heard on the other side of the door. He cautiously opened the door, peeking around the other side to gather in the sight of Buffy sitting in the middle of the living room, a box of Kleenex in her lap and photos strewn all around her. He saw that most of the photos were of her and Riley, during their relationship. He tamped down his jealousy and went to her, gathering her in his arms. Rocking her gently while she cried against his shoulder, he murmured comforting words into her hair, stroking it softly.

            She sniffled a bit, burrowing her face into his shoulder, inhaling his scent. _Leather and cigarettes,_ she noted mentally before losing thoughts to her grief once more. Finally, through her tears, she heard him speak.

            "It's okay," he said softly, still stroking her hair and rocking her back and forth. "What happened, luv?"

            She sniffled and coughed slightly, wiping at her nose with the tissue in her hand. "He just called on the phone a few minutes ago. Said he just wanted to see how I was, I told him I was fine, et cetera." She sat back, blowing her nose and throwing the tissue in the nearby trash can before she allowed Spike to gather her back up against him. Continuing, she sobbed, "He tells me that he's the squad leader down at the Initiative now, tells me how everyone is doing back home, they all say hello."

            "Riley?" Spike interjected, feeling her nod in the affirmative before continuing her story.

            "Yeah. Then he says 'I have this news.' She works at the Initiative, too, apparently. Some commando-scientist or something. Her name is Samantha, but he says he calls her Sam, or whatever. He just met her. She was supposed to be his 'transitional girlfriend' or something like that, not supposed to be this serious." The tears began afresh. "All this time I've been saying that he didn't want to get married. Truth was, he didn't want to get married to _me_." She became incoherent with sobs.

            He rocked her some more, squeezing her in his arms, gently. 

            "He didn't love me," Buffy wailed.

            Running his fingers through her hair, Spike murmured in her ear, "If you could have him back, right now, would you take him back, pet?"

            She pulled back to look at him with red, watery eyes. "No, but that's not the point! Why didn't he want to marry me? What's the matter with me?" She dabbed at her nose with a fresh tissue.

            "Nothing," he assured her, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

            "I'm difficult," she mourned, staring at the carpet between them.

            "You're challenging, pet," he corrected.

            She shook her head. "I'm too structured. I'm closed off from people." 

            He squeezed her arm, meeting her eyes. "Yeah, but in a good way, luv."

            "No, I drove him away. I drive them all away… They all leave." She cried into her tissue before wailing, "And I'm going to be forty!"

            He stared at her like she'd just revealed herself to be Barbara Bush in disguise. "I beg your pardon? Forty? When?"

            "Someday," she muttered.

            He laughed and hugged her. "In sixteen years, Buffy!"

            "Yeah, but still. It's there. Sitting there like a big dead end, mocking me with its big dead-endishness."

            He took off his duster and laid it over the couch behind him, reaching out to her for a hug. "Come here, pet." He rocked her again and then started tickling her ribs till she giggled and batted his hands away. 

            Sitting up, she fingered his black t-shirt. "I'm making a mess of your shirt," she murmured, sniffling.

            "Yeah," he shrugged, winking at her. "But I have thousands of the exact same color." They shared a laugh at the accurate comment regarding his wardrobe. He kissed her forehead and stood up. "I'll go make you a cuppa hot chocolate, with those little marshmallows you like." Her tugging on his hand stopped him.

            "Spike, could you…" she trailed off, then looked up at him timidly. "Could you hold me just a little longer?"

            He sat back down, gathering her up against him in his lap. "Of course, pet." 

            They sat like that, with him holding her and her burrowing her face against his neck, breathing in his scent. After a few minutes she shifted in his lap, and he looked at her to see that she was searching his face, as if looking for something. He was about to ask her what he could get for her when she crushed her lips against his in a passionate kiss. The kiss took him by surprise with both its being there and its intensity, for it was almost more passionate than the one they had shared on New Year's. He allowed himself only a moment's hesitation before twining his fingers through her blonde strands and slanting his head to return the kiss with his own passion. He felt her moan into his mouth as his tongue pushed past her lips to battle hers. She stroked his tongue in return with her own, running her fingers through his bleached hair. 

            Whereas before she had been sitting sideways in his lap, she now pivoted so that she was straddling him, wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning in as closely as she could. He thought he was dreaming this, but that if it was a dream, he hoped he never woke up. He felt her hands begin to roam over his chest, exploring the well-defined muscles that lay hidden beneath his t-shirt. He returned the exploration, stroking down her neck, over the tops of her breasts, grazing her nipples with the tips of his fingers. He relished in the sharp intake of breath she emitted from the contact and furthered his examination of the firm globes of flesh. Through her shirt, he cupped her breasts with his hands and squeezed gently, feeling her moan into his mouth and arch against him for more contact. They both broke the kiss to breathe, staring at each other with hooded eyes. 

            With a feral growl, he pushed her onto her back on the carpet behind her, sweeping all the pictures aside with one forearm. She felt him hovering over her and wrapped her legs around his hips instinctively. Propped up by his hands so that he was looking down at her flushed face, he moaned and leaned in to nibble on her lower lip, playing his tongue over her mouth before she parted her lips and allowed him entrance. Reaching up under her shirt to feel her heated skin directly, Spike's hand immediately traveled to one breast and tweaked the nipple gently. She let out a muffled scream of pleasure into his mouth, arching her back so that her breasts were pressed flush against his chest. He stifled a groan, rolling his eyes back in his head as he fought to keep control of his body. He pulled away from the kiss, lifting her shirt instead to attack her breast with his mouth. He rolled the tightened nub of one rose-colored nipple between his teeth, flicking his tongue over it so that her moans increased, both in frequency and volume. He felt her reach down to grip his shoulders as he played his hand over her abdomen, exploring her body, continuing his assault on her breasts. He suckled at her so hard she was afraid she would burst from the sensation. 

            Feelings washed over her in a tide as she felt Spike gently kiss his way down her abdomen to where her waistband to her sweatpants was. He locked gazes with her as he pulled them down her legs with excruciating slowness. Bending her legs, she helped him ease the pants off. The scent of her was driving him nearly insane and he suddenly lost patience, ripping her thong away instead of easing it away like he had her pants. He couldn't help but lean in to part her folds with the tip of his tongue, tasting her. Slowly, he pushed one, then two fingers into her, developing a deep thrusting rhythm. She cried out and bucked her hips against his hand as he hit her sensitive spot deep within, palming her clit in lazy circles as he continued to thrust into her. She felt every nerve ending as if it were on fire within her, as she suddenly spiraled off the edge, screaming his name. 

            Hearing his name on her lips during her moment of ecstasy was enough to shred what little control he had left, and he quickly shed his clothing. Settling again between her legs, he kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue. She gasped as she felt the length of his arousal pressed firmly against her sensitive folds. Locking gazes with him, she rolled her hips as she locked her ankles around his lower back, pressing him deeply into her. His eyes widened as her heat enveloped him, tight warmth that was excruciatingly sweet. He filled her completely, a perfect match to her body, and they both moaned as he pulled back. When he was just barely still inside her, he gathered her in his arms, pressing her against him as he thrust deeply into her again. She threw her head back and cried out senseless words as he began to fill her again and again, thrusting hard and slow. The world faded away for the two of them as they lost all sense of anything other than their own joined bodies. Moans and gasps filled the room as they rocked together, expressing all their lust and passion, as well as deeper feelings that they were too embarrassed to express in any other way than this.

            Raising her hips with each thrust to meet his, they felt the waves of orgasm begin to wash over them. As her inner walls clenched tightly around him he moaned his own release, capturing her mouth in a kiss that stole what was left of her breath. Thrusting deeply a few more times to prolong the heaven they both were in, he finally settled atop her, tracing kisses down her jawline and neck. She sighed contentedly, stroking his back with the tips of her fingers, savoring the feel of him inside and all around her. As she drifted slowly to sleep with their bodies still joined, she heard him murmur her name, almost as if it were a sacred prayer. Reflexively, she tightened her embrace for a moment before she allowed her body to fade into rest.

            The last words she heard were whispered from his lips, followed by a kiss to her temple as he followed her to sleep:

            "I love you…"


	13. Chapter 13

When Spike Met Buffy  
  
Part 13  
  
Buffy woke to the sound of breakfast being made in the kitchen. Slowly, she stretched, all the muscles in her body protesting at a night spent on the living room floor. Her outstretched hands encountered a familiar leather duster laid out on the floor next to her. Reaching for it in confusion, she also uncovered the tattered remnants of a black t-shirt.  
  
Oh god.  
  
"Mornin', luv," came an all-too-familiar voice from the kitchen. He lifted the skillet high so she could see it over the countertop that separated them. "Thought you might be hungry after last night."  
  
She nodded, numbly, transfixed by horror at her actions and by the sight of him without a shirt on. Who knew Spike was sexy? She kicked herself mentally for such thinking. Bad Buffy, what have you done? You're nothing more than a friend to him. and now he probably thinks you're an easy friend.  
  
She watched, clutching his discarded duster around her naked form, as he scooped scrambled eggs and bacon onto two plates. Pouring juice into glasses, he set them on the countertop, which served as the breakfast nook. Noticing the way she clutched his coat to herself, he furrowed his brow in concern.  
  
"Cold, pet?" Without waiting for a response, he moved to the back of the couch and picked up the throw that lay across it. As he became fully visible from around the couch, walking towards her, it was immediately apparent that a shirt wasn't the only thing he'd neglected to put on when he woke up.  
  
Buffy's eyes widened and she looked away instantly. "Th-thanks," she stammered, trying to forget the image of Naked Spike. "But, shouldn't you be wearing. pants?"  
  
She could practically see the eyebrow raising as his attitude shifted. "Oh, that's right. Hide your blushing eyes," he said sarcastically. All other sound was muffled and the lights dimmed as the afghan was unceremoniously chucked at her head.  
  
As she removed the heavy blanket, wrapping it around her in lieu of his duster, she watched bemusedly as he paced across the room from her. He toyed with an unlit cigarette between his fingers, but she would be hard- put to say where, exactly, he had pulled it from, as she was still holding onto his duster. He seemed to be having an internal debate with himself, and she watched as he grew more and more frustrated. Finally, he turned to her, a scowl twisting his handsome features.  
  
"Well, say something." She smiled at him, a little too innocently. "Why do I need to? You seem to be carrying on enough conversation for the both of us."  
  
He let out an angry growl and placed the cigarette between his lips, preparing to light it. "What the hell is wrong with you? I mean."  
  
She frowned, interrupting him. "Don't you dare light that cancer stick."  
  
He ignored her, holding the flame from his lighter to the tip of the cigarette, watching it glow before inhaling from it. Pointedly blowing the smoke in her direction, he snorted with amusement as she fanned the smoke away from her face. "Well, I bloody well need something to keep me from wringing your pretty little neck, it seems." He perched on the arm of the couch, staring at her with a mixture of hurt and anger.  
  
She felt a knife twist in her heart as she saw his expression, knowing he was only reacting to the coldness she was showing him. But she knew they were only good together as friends. Anything more would ruin what they had. I'm sorry this morning couldn't be songbirds and roses, Spike, she thought sadly. I really am.  
  
"I only asked you to put pants on, Spike," she muttered, staring at the carpet.  
  
"Well," he said smugly, "you were certainly eager enough to get them off last night."  
  
Her cheeks burned at the memory and she avoided his piercing gaze. If she looked into his eyes at this point, it would be her undoing. She wouldn't have the courage to follow through with what she knew needed to be done. "That was a mistake," she whispered.  
  
"I'm sorry, luv," he drawled, taking a drag from his cigarette and stretching back against the couch. "You're going to have to speak up, I can't hear you through your self-recrimination."  
  
She winced before raising her jaw slightly, still not meeting his eyes. "What we did, last night, was a mistake, Spike."  
  
His façade of anger melted away, replaced by barely-concealed desperation. "It didn't feel like a mistake to me," he insisted. "Felt bloody wonderful."  
  
"Yeah, well, it felt great, but." Her voice trailed off as she tried to find the words. "It was just sex. I feel terrible now, having just had meaningless sex with my best friend." She picked at the fibers of the carpet, fighting back the tears. "And no matter how hard I try to convince myself that it meant something more, I know we'll never be anything more than friends."  
  
"That's great," he ground out, glaring at her. "Fucking brilliant logic you've got there, Buffy. Have sex now, feel great, regret it in the morning and trample a bloke's hopes. Oh, but please, let's remain friends!" He flashed her a brilliant smile that was completely fake, before his expression once again shifted to a frown. "Don't bleedin' think so."  
  
She quickly wiped away the tear that leaked from the corner of one eye, before he'd had a chance to see it fall. "Spike." she tried again.  
  
"Save it, Summers," he sniped, grabbing the duster from her grasp. "Hope you really like eggs, because I've come down with a sudden case of not being very hungry." He stared down at her, smirking, as he shrugged into the long leather coat. "Call me next time you need a sympathy fuck."  
  
Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, watching as he strode purposefully towards the door. Finally, it hit her, and she halted him by calling out his name. He silently turned to face her, fuming. She gestured to the pants that still lay on the back of the couch. Raising an eyebrow, she commented, "Prostitution may be legal in the state of Nevada, but you can still be picked up for public nudity."  
  
He rolled his eyes, glaring daggers at her as he retrieved his pants and put them on, followed by his shoes. She raised the scrap of fabric that was his shirt and he shook his head. "Keep it for a souvenir, Summers."  
  
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You're a pig, Spike."  
  
"Oink, oink." He leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Because, deny it as you might, I shagged you here on the pictures of your beloved Soldier Boy, and you liked it. You screamed my name, and you enjoyed every bleedin' moment." Straightening, he looked down at her. "But if you say last night didn't mean anything, I suppose you're right. Didn't mean a sodding thing. Silly me."  
  
She cringed at the tone in his voice, so different from the voice he'd used last night, murmuring affections in her ear. She watched as he turned to the breakfast nook and picked up a slice of bacon from one of the plates, chewing off a piece.  
  
Swallowing, he smirked. "Mmm. You'll love your breakfast, luv. It's frigid now, just like you." He turned to the door again.  
  
"Where are you going, Spike?" she asked softly. "Home?"  
  
"After this morning?" he laughed. "No, I value my apartment too much. So." He trailed off, looking at her with what could have been construed as longing, if not for the scowl twisting his mouth. "Out for a walk. Bitch."  
  
She felt all hopes at staying friends with this man dissolve as he walked through the door, slamming it behind him. 


	14. Chapter 14

When Spike Met Buffy  
  
Chapter 14:  
  
"So, Spike." Oz's voice trailed off as he leaned over to take his shot at the pool table. Straightening after blatantly missing the ball he'd been aiming for, he shook his head and shrugged. Turning to his friend, who was currently chain-smoking behind him, he circled the pool table to where he'd left his beer and took a swig. As he swallowed and prepared to complete his train of thought, Spike gestured to the table, indicating the only ball that had actually moved: the cue ball.  
  
"You do know, of course, that you're supposed to actually hit the ball with that other ball?"  
  
Oz coolly raised an eyebrow at him. "I was more focusing on the 'cool' aspect of my shot. See, totally cool, here."  
  
"Uh huh, whatever," Spike winked as he leaned on the edge of the table to assess his next shot. "So, what were you going to say, mate?"  
  
Oz watched as the other man effortlessly sunk one of the striped balls in a corner pocket before continuing his question. "Well, you know I popped the question to Willow a couple of months ago, right?" At Spike's nod, he shrugged. "Well, she's in the middle of making all these girly wedding plans, you know. That got me thinking. I mean the least I can do, as a man, is make sure I have a best man, right?" He gestured with his beer bottle. "I was kinda hoping you wouldn't let me down, pal."  
  
Spike sighed, staring down at his Doc Martens before meeting Oz's look. "From the tone you've taken, I'm guessing this means I have to wear some sort of embarrassing monkey-suit." He shook his head and resumed planning his next shot. "Sorry, man, but I'm not wearing a tux."  
  
"Oh, come on," Oz said, in as close a tone as he ever got to pleading. "I need you next to me on my big day! And, you can't exactly wear worn-out jeans and a leather jacket to the wedding ceremony." When Spike didn't reply, Oz took another tactic. "I mean, how long have we known each other?"  
  
The Brit snorted incredulously as he aimed and missed, coming around to light another cigarette. "Obviously not long enough, if you think for one second that I'm going to let you dress me up like some bleedin' cake decoration."  
  
"Buffy'll be there. She's the maid of honor."  
  
Spike hesitated for a moment, the hand that held the lighter trembling slightly as he focused on lighting the end of his cigarette. Taking a long drag and exhaling, he set his brow in determination. "Hoo-bloody-rah. Next incentive?"  
  
"Thought you'd be in if you knew she'd be there." Oz mumbled in puzzlement as he stared at the pool table, trying to concentrate on the angles of the balls in relation to the pockets.  
  
Perching on a chair, Spike laughed. "Mate, you'd 'ave had more luck getting me to do it if you'd told me she wasn't going to the damn show."  
  
"You mean you guys still aren't speaking to one another? It's been four months already, man."  
  
"No shit," Spike exhaled his smoke around the statement. "But I figure if I call her and she dodges, and doesn't return my messages, then it's her loss."  
  
Oz fixed him with a pointed look. "Good way of looking at it. Now, let's try it once more with truth involved."  
  
Spike rolled his eyes and stared at the floor. "I don't know, mate. I have no idea what I did wrong, but she goes off saying it was a mistake and refuses to speak to me afterwards. She was the one who fucking came on to me!" He shook his head. "Bint's got issues."  
  
"I think you both are perfect for each other," Oz mused. "You're great as friends, but throw sex into the mix and you're at each other's throats because you've been secretly replacing your ex's with each other."  
  
"That's where you're wrong, mate," the bleach-blonde cut him off, leaning back in his chair and staring off into space. "I don't give a bloody damn about Harm anymore. Never really did. Harmony was the replacement. Buffy was the girl I couldn't have, or who wouldn't have me." He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray before taking out another to light. "The night we." Trailing off, he lit the fag and simply finished with, "Best damn night of my life."  
  
"Why do you think she's reacting this way?"  
  
"Wish I knew." He sighed and shook his head, before determination crossed his features. "Sod it. I'll be the best man, Oz. Just." He stared intently at his best friend. "Do not make me look like the ringmaster at the bleedin' circus!"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Buffy stood with Willow in the middle of the bridal shop, watching as her friend skimmed the racks of wedding dresses in search of the perfect one. She alternately shook her head "no" or shrugged in a "maybe" gesture as the selections were presented to her for approval. Her feet were killing her and, for the billionth time that day, she wished that Willow would pick something and be done with it.  
  
Turning to the bridesmaid dresses, she absently fingered one of the sleeves of a lavender chiffon number. "So, is Spike bringing that Cordelia chick to the wedding?"  
  
She heard Willow's muffled voice from the dressing room behind her. "Uh." Zip. "No, they broke up right after. well." Rustle. "You know. the 'incident' that shall not be mentioned."  
  
"Oh." She sat down in the chair next to the mirrors outside the dressing room. "So, is he seeing anybody? Not that I am, in any way, interested." she insisted vehemently.  
  
"Of course you're not," her friend soothed half-heartedly. "He was sorta seeing this stripper for a week or so." More sounds of fabric rustling came from behind the door.  
  
"What did she look like?"  
  
"Oh, you know. oomph! Blonde. Thin. Big tits. Your basic slut-bomb." The redhead appeared from behind the door and walked over to the mirrors to look at her choice. "So, what do you think?"  
  
Buffy's mouth dropped open, all thoughts of Spike's dating life forgotten for the moment. The dress Willow wore was made of soft green silk, which shimmered according to the light changes, and had off-the-shoulder gauze of the same color in thin strips, in lieu of sleeves, that wrapped loosely around her upper arms. The shade of green in the dress set off her friend's green eyes and flaming red hair beautifully. As Willow turned around, Buffy saw that the back half was almost non-existent, a large scoop reaching down to the small of the back displaying creamy flesh.  
  
"Oh, Wills," Buffy gasped. "It's beautiful."  
  
Her friend beamed. "Really? I love it, too. I just want everything to be perfect."  
  
"And it will be," the blonde promised.  
  
As Willow re-entered the dressing room, she tossed over her shoulder, "Good, that's done. Now we get to have you try on your dress!"  
  
Buffy blanched. "As long as I get to choose the color."  
  
Willow's head poked out from behind the door, a frown on her face. "You don't trust me?"  
  
"You're the one who chose the store with bridesmaids' dresses that glow in the dark," Buffy insisted. "If I glow next Sunday, I want it to be because I'm happy. Not because the dress is radioactive!" 


	15. Chapter 15

When Spike Met Buffy  
  
Chapter 15:  
  
Spike fidgeted nervously. He was desperate for a smoke and the ceremony hadn't even kicked off yet. Oz stood next to him, staring at the doors that Willow would be walking through any second. The shorter man was the essence of cool, however, and Spike made every effort not to make him more anxious by displaying his own restlessness. But damn, did he want a cigarette. The church was packed full of family, friends, and co-workers of the soon-to-be newlyweds, and Spike felt as if he was on display in the modified tuxedo he wore. Oz had been kind enough to forego the coattails and the cummerbund, but it was still an insufferable ensemble; after all, it was a far cry from his normal tee shirt and jeans.  
  
The woman at the organ started the first chords of "Here Comes The Bride", and Spike's gaze immediately shot to the doors at the back of the church. He knew Buffy would be coming through first, and that was the source of his anxiety. He hadn't seen her in almost five months and had missed her like mad. He was positive that she didn't feel the same way, however, and was not looking forward to her avoidance of him.  
  
Sure enough, the doors opened, and Buffy appeared at the head of the wedding procession, followed by Willow and her father. Spike's throat went dry as he watched her walk slowly up the aisle. Her blonde tresses were done up in a loose French twist, with tendrils curling down to frame her face. Flowers were woven through her hair and there was a shimmer on her skin, making her look positively angelic. Her dress was a soft cloud blue, sleeveless with a tight bodice. The fabric that made up the skirt flowed from the waist down to just below her ankles, and as she took her place with the bridesmaids on the other side of the steps, he could see that the back was made up of loosely laced straps of the same material. She was a vision, plain and simple.  
  
He caught her looking at him as openly as he was she, and their gazes locked. Then, as suddenly as she had met his eyes, she looked away. He felt a palpable loss, followed swiftly by barely contained anger. What the hell was her problem?  
  
As the priest and the rabbi began their joined efforts in uniting the couple, Spike made up his mind that Buffy would not get the chance to run from him at the reception.  
  
You and I are gonna have a confrontation, pet.  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
He caught up to her just outside the entrance to the dining hall where the reception was being held. She didn't acknowledge his presence, just continued to stare out at the evening sky. She seemed transfixed by the stars. He felt almost guilty at disturbing her peace, but reasoned that she'd had about five months of peace.  
  
"Hello, pet."  
  
She didn't look at him. "Hi."  
  
He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Nice ceremony, wasn't it?"  
  
"Beautiful." No emotion, or even a glance from her as she spoke.  
  
He tried another tactic. "How've you been, lately?"  
  
She shrugged, still looking skyward. "Fine."  
  
"How are things with that Scott Hope fellow Willow tells me you've been dating?"  
  
"Spike," she interrupted, finally meeting his eyes. "I don't want to talk. Go away." She walked off away from the entrance to the building.  
  
He followed her. "Why? Is it because of what happened between us?" He couldn't keep the anger from his tone.  
  
"Drop it, Spike. Just find an elsewhere to be," she snapped back at him as she continued walking off.  
  
"You know, I don't think I will, pet. I think it's time you and I had this out like adults, don't you?" He grabbed her by the elbow and whirled her around to face him. "Been a long time since we had a little heart to heart, wouldn't you agree?"  
  
"Well, Spike," she rejoined, dripping false sweetness with her tone, "we've had so many heart-to-heart chats that you should know pretty well by now what I'd say anyway."  
  
"True," he acknowledged, "but that was before you developed a rather large stick up that pretty little ass of yours." He smirked. "Believe me, wasn't there when I last had the opportunity to look."  
  
She slapped him. "You're a pig, Spike."  
  
"Find some new insults, luv," he snarked, pulling her over to a park bench and sitting her down next to him. "That one's getting old."  
  
She simply stared at him and crossed her arms. "I have nothing to say to you."  
  
He threw up his hands, looking heavenward for assistance. "Bloody hell! What the fuck is your problem? First we have the most incredible night, then you practically chase me out the door the next morning, saying it was a mistake. Now you won't speak to me! What the hell did I do to deserve this, eh?"  
  
She said nothing.  
  
He raked a hand through his hair, causing the gel to loosen and allow a few unruly platinum curls to spring forward. "Say you're right, luv. Say it was a mistake. How long are we gonna carry this around and let it get between us? Forever?"  
  
Buffy turned on him with fire in her eyes. "Forever? It just happened!"  
  
"Five months ago!" he insisted. "You haven't spoken to me since then! Frankly, I'm getting rather brassed off and tired of it."  
  
"Oh, so now you're saying that the sex was great, hooray. Now let's go back to the way things were as if it didn't mean anything?" She shot from her seat and began pacing.  
  
"I'm not saying it didn't mean anything! You're the one that said that! But why does it have to mean everything? Why does it have to stand between us like this?" He flicked his spent cigarette into the grass, preparing to pull another from the pack.  
  
"Because it does! But the second it happens, you run for the door." She stormed off in the direction of the dining hall.  
  
He followed her, now completely irate. "I ran? You practically chased me out the bloody apartment! Kept telling me it was a mistake, and not answering the fucking telephone!"  
  
Buffy kept walking. "It was a mistake. Obviously the worst mistake I ever made."  
  
Spike did his best to keep up with her as they neared the entrance. They entered the building at a furious pace, attracting stares from the other reception guests. He ignored them. "How the hell do you expect me to act with you, now, Buffy?"  
  
They reached the doors to the dining hall, stopping briefly as she turned and stabbed a finger in his chest. "I don't. Okay? Don't act anyway around me, don't be around me!"  
  
He narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly. "Okay, fine. Have it your way, pet. But let's get one thing straight: I did not go over to your flat that night to take advantage of you. You jumped me, remember? I mean, what's a bloke supposed to do, what with your big weepy eyes, runny nose and 'Oh, hold me a bit longer, Spike'?"  
  
Buffy's eyes widened in shocked anger. "So what, you're saying that you took pity on me? Fuck you!" She slapped him hard across the face before storming into the dining hall.  
  
He stomped in after her. "Sorry, luv, been there, done that. Let me know when they come out with a T-shirt so I can add it to the collection." His voice trailed off when he noticed everyone staring at them, including Oz and Willow.  
  
Oz had his glass raised and, unruffled, continued his toast. ".And to Spike and Buffy. If Willow or I had found either of them remotely interesting, we wouldn't be together today. Thanks, guys." He raised his glass in mock- salute to Spike, who stood there fuming in anger at Buffy.  
  
Buffy, for her part, was equally irate, but when she turned to face him, he could see something else behind her eyes. Something he had missed before.  
  
Wistfulness and sorrow.  
  
He felt like an utter ass as she turned and disappeared from sight. 


End file.
